End of the Road and Back
by UnstableIntention
Summary: Home from college for the summer, Stiles takes a job babysitting for one of the Sheriff's new deputies. Caring for five-year-old werewolf triplets is a challenge but it's their dad that really has Stiles tied up in knots. Hired specifically with the Hale family reunion in mind, he only has the summer to decide if he can survive the trip to the end of the road and back.
1. Stop Stalking my Deputies

**Dedicated to erdbeermilch, for the happy circumstance of a random recommendation (: Enjoy!**

* * *

This was wrong.

This was very, very wrong.

But damn, did it feel right.

Stiles Stilinski had only been home from his sophomore year of University for two weeks and he was already bored. A double major in Social Work and World Mythology, he was used to a schedule that kept him running between opposite ends of campus and reading until well into the night, but Beacon Hills was an entirely different world.

He didn't regret moving home for the summer. His dad had suffered a mild stress attack just before Stiles' final exams, and immediately upon finishing the last of the seven, he had thrown his duffel bags into the back of his rusty blue jeep and driven the four hours back to his hometown without a single stop, pulling in just after nine o'clock. He spent the next three days corralling the man around the house, keeping him in a chair and restricting him to rest and serious health food until Melissa McCall, his best friend's mom and nurse extraordinaire, put her foot down, assuring Stiles that his father would be fine as long as he took it easy and didn't overtax himself at work.

Stiles had made his own demands at that point, taking a quick (and completely illegal) tour through the city's budget before demanding that his father hire no less than two new deputies within the next month in order to insure he wasn't spreading himself too thin. Much to his surprise the Sheriff had complied, and quickly too, coming home eight days later to inform his son that both positions had been satisfactorily filled. Placated, Stiles had spent his time sacked out on the couch playing hours and hours of video games and nomming on his hidden snack stash, but after a few days he was thoroughly through with being a slob. Showering off three days of lazy-funk, he'd dressed in a pair of black skinny jeans and chucks, along with his lucky white button-up with the green plaid print before climbing into the jeep and driving over to the station to check out the new recruits.

Because after all, they were there because of his insistence.

Hewas essentially the whole _reason_ they'd been hired.

This time, the trouble he was in was entirely his fault.

Because he _was_ in trouble.

Holy, sweet hell, was he in trouble.

Slouched down low in the driver's seat, he rested his cell phone on the steering wheel pretending to play a game of Candy Crush while surreptitiously peering through the windshield at the small group of cops gathered in front of the police station. He'd parked next to his dad's cruiser and was just about to jump out of the jeep when they'd emerged from the building, two older men that he'd known since he was a kid and two he'd never seen before, their black uniforms and heavy utility belts giving them away as the new deputies. Stiles' eyes had gone wide and he'd flailed down beneath the dash, popping back up almost immediately for another look.

Because, _damn_!

Daddy done good this time.

The first of the two was young, probably older than he looked, but sandy blonde and fresh-faced, with a perfectly bite-able lower lip. As the group paused in front of the station before splitting off to their respective cruisers he had turned away, and even from a distance Stiles had no problem checking out his ass in his fitted cargo pants. Still, if he was a nice eyeful the other was totally drool-worthy, dark-haired and a little pale with a sharp jaw covered in a heavy five o'clock shadow. He was standing with his arms folded over his broad chest, his feet widely spaced on the pavement, displaying a lovely set of biceps, and even if he looked just a little bit grim and grumpy, Stiles couldn't stop his eyes from running over and over the man from head to toe.

Lord.

His dad's new deputies were gorgeous.

And _he_ was totally screwed.

The thought had only just flitted through his head when the second deputy, the one with the thick, black hair that Stiles suddenly wanted to drag his fingers through, snapped his head up and looked directly into the jeep, looked directly at him as though he could hear the pounding beat of Stiles' heart against the wall of his chest. It was all he could do not to jump, to just sit still and keep on with his lost-cause game of Crush, his muscles locked until the man's mouth twisted in a frown and he turned away, back to the conversation. Letting out a silent huff of a breath he hadn't know he was holding, he practically melted into his seat, his eyes going right back to his perusal of Beacon Hill's latest rookies.

His staring was cut short when his cellphone chimed.

Yelping loudly, Stiles jerked in surprise, sending the phone bouncing off the dash and onto the floor. Swiftly retrieving it, he thumbed over the screen and scanned the text.

**Stop stalking my deputies.**

Scowling, Stiles deleted the message and stuffed the phone down into his pocket, squirming to get his hand into his one-size-to-small jeans. Jerking his keys from the ignition, he leapt down onto the pavement and slammed the door, jogging the three steps up to the sidewalk leading to the doors of the station.

"All right there Stiles?" one of the older detectives asked, and he felt his cheeks flush as he realized they had probably all heard his unmanly yip through his open driver's window.

"Sure thing Detective Lapland," he grinned, flashing a pair of thumbs up.

Moving quickly before he could be introduced, he bypassed the group and ducked through the doors into the lobby, ignoring the way the hair on his arms stood up as he slipped by the new deputies. He could feel curious eyes on his shoulders but he steadfastly ignored it, instead waving to Tara behind the desk and heading straight back to his dad's office, catching him in the act of stuffing a package of M&M's into his desk drawer.

"Thought I had more time," the man grumbled, slapping the pack into Stiles waiting hand. "What with the spying and all."

"I wasn't spying, I was… _observing_," Stiles insisted, closing the office door and taking a seat across from his dad. "Besides, you're one to talk, creeping on the parking lot through the blinds."

"Please." The Sheriff rolled his eyes. "I could hear that jeep coming from a mile off. When you didn't come in I had to start wondering if you'd gotten yourself hung up in the seatbelt again."

"That happened one time!" Stiles moaned. "And the thing jammed; you can't blame that on me!"

His dad chuckled, tapping a few papers together on his desk. "So Stiles," he began with half a grin, "Why are you here again?"

Stiles squirmed in his seat. There was no way he could tell his dad that he had come to check out the new deputies now, not unless he never wanted to hear the end of it. He'd been caught red-handed checking said deputies out, and that was bad enough.

"Can't a son take his dad to lunch? Gotta monitor your breaks and your junk food intake somehow," he said finally, shaking the M&M's at his dad like a maraca.

"Hmm."

The Sheriff narrowed his eyes speculatively, made a harrumphing sort of noise as he stood and began to lock his files away into a cabinet.

"Stiles, I've been a Sheriff for the last ten years," he said, moving to the window and using a finger to press a gap in the blinds. "And I raised _you_ for the last twenty. I know your methods kid."

Stiles scoffed, rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. "Are you really going to pass up lunch to make fun of me?" he whined.

"Nope," his dad replied. "I'm gonna do both. Let me talk to Tara and radio out to the boys and we can go."

"Cool," Stiles answered, getting to his feet and pouring a couple confiscated M&M's into his hand. "Meet you in the car?"

The Sheriff nodded distractedly and went back to locking away the last of his paperwork. Slipping out of the office, Stiles waved to Tara once more and stepped back out into the sunshine, popping a couple pieces of candy into the air and doing a neat little staggered jog down the sidewalk in an attempt to catch them in his mouth. Unfortunately, he hadn't entirely outgrown his gangly, clumsy streak, and so it was understandable that crashing into a slim, toned body sent him completely askew, racing his chocolate towards the sidewalk.

Totally understandable.

Stiles had just braced himself for impact when a hand shot out and grabbed him by the elbow, ending his careening collision course with the pavement and hauling him upright again.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I… shhhhiiiii…."

He cut the curse off mid-way through, drew it out trying to get away from the strong, slim fingers of the blonde haired deputy he'd been casing earlier.

"Oh god," he groaned, scrubbing a hand down over his face. "Why my life?"

"You ok?"

Cracking his fingers, Stiles peered out between them, practically blinded by the bright, easy grin of the deputy still holding him upright.

"Yep," he replied. "Great. Wonderful. Completely mortified, but it's fine, I'll just…"

"Easy there Stiles," Officer Burns chuckled behind him. "I only just got the new deputy; I don't need you taking him out so soon."

"Right," Stiles answered, his cheeks heating up again. "Sorry, again. Really."

"That's ok," the deputy smiled. "No harm done. Stiles, right?"

Stiles nodded, accepting the firm handshake that was offered to him.

"Stiles is the Sheriff's son," Burns explained, clapping a heavy hand down on Stiles' shoulder. "This here is Deputy Parrish."

"Kyle," the young man offered, and Stiles felt himself crack a grin of his own.

The older officers were sticklers about their titles, and to be honest he wasn't really calling them by any other moniker, having grown up running around the station with hero-worship in his eyes for all the hot-shot cops his dad had worked with.

"Kyle," he reiterated, and the blonde's grin widened. He was cute, Stiles had to give him that, and he seemed totally willing to forgive Stiles' earlier bulldozer impression. "So you're one of the new deputies?"

Kyle laughed, tapped the narrow brass plate on his chest that declared his surname. "Yep. Third official day on the job."

"Thanks for that by the way," Burns acknowledged, bumping Stiles with his shoulder. "We've been trying to get some fresh blood in here for a while. Thought I was going to be stuck on traffic detail forever."

"Oh man," Stiles groaned, turning back to the young deputy. "They're putting you on speed trap duty? Marsh Road?"

Kyle laughed and it made Stiles belly feel warm and tickly. Swallowing hard he reigned himself in, telling his libido firmly that the only reason he was so interested in his dad's new employees was because he hadn't been laid since he broke up with his semi-serious boyfriend five months ago.

Right.

Because honesty was a thing.

"Nah," Kyle replied, jerking Stiles back to attention. "They're actually thinking about training me for dog patrol."

"We're getting a K9?" Stiles asked, suddenly excited. "That's awesome!"

"Yeah, I'm pretty excited," Kyle admitted, ducking his head and rubbing the back of his neck. "I grew up on a farm just outside of town, and we always had dogs, so…"

"No man, that's great," Stiles replied. "We totally have the budget to bring in a dog if dad doesn't hire anybody else. It's just you and the other guy right?"

Kyle opened his mouth to answer but Stiles felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder, shake him gently, and this time it wasn't Burns.

"Stiles, what did I tell you about hacking my work computer?" his father asked, making Kyle shift nervously.

"His methods may be questionable Sheriff, but his results are undeniable," Burns spoke up. "We should have gone to him in the first place."

"They really should have," Stiles agreed sagely.

"Burns, don't encourage my son's delinquency," The Sheriff sighed. "Or I'll put you back in the speed trap out on Marsh."

While the threat made the older officer go a bit green it elicited a short burst of laughter from the new deputy. Stiles' dad cocked an eyebrow, shook his head before pushing his son away towards the jeep.

"Bye Stiles," Kyle called, causing him to fumble his keys in surprise.

Casting a nervous little wave in the deputy's direction, he climbed into the jeep and cranked the ignition, catching sight of his father's silently shaking shoulders as he twisted in his seat to back out of his spot.

"Always nice to have you back son," the traitor choked.

"Shut up," Stiles muttered.


	2. Life in the Slow Lane

They went to the little diner around the block from the station, the one where Stiles had always gone on bad days for curly fries and strawberry milkshakes, and where all the waitresses knew better than to serve the same to the Sheriff. He had done a thorough job of bribing or threatening the town into compliance with his dietary plans before heading off to school, and he had spies located on practically every corner of Beacon Hills. Seemed it was Detective Lapland he was going to have to have a chat with; vending machine duty was his particular responsibility.

Sliding into a red vinyl both, Stiles hands immediately found the sticky, laminated menu and began flipping through it even though he already knew what he was getting; he tended to be a creature of habit when it came to these things. Flipping the booklet shut, he pushed it away before dragging his fingers through his hair. It was getting a little bit long now because he hadn't bothered to buzz it during finals, but he rather liked the new length, and now that summer was here he wasn't sure what to do with it. His dad noticed his fidgeting, casting him a short glance over the top of his own menu, one eyebrow cocked.

"Spit it out Stiles," he recommended, "Before you vibrate right off your seat."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Stiles fronted, looking off towards the kitchen where the sounds of sizzling and the scent of grilling onions made his stomach rumble.

The Sheriff hummed, turned a page.

"So." Stiles took a minute to beat out a tune against the table top with his fingers. "Um…"

Sighing the sigh of exasperated parents, his dad dropped his menu and steepled his fingers, peering at Stiles speculatively.

"Let me go half salad, half fries and I'll tell you anything you want to know," he said finally.

Stiles narrowed his eyes, debated playing stupid before quickly caving. "Seventy-thirty," he haggled.

"Fifty-fifty. Take it or leave it kid."

Stiles frowned, but stuck out his hand and shook with his father firmly. "You drive a hard bargain old man."

The Sheriff chuckled. "Curiosity's got a price son. You of all people should know that by now."

"Is that a gay joke dad?" Stiles teased with a grin, well aware that his dad was comfortable with and supportive of his lifestyle choices, ever since he'd caught him in a raid at the Jungle his sophomore year of high school.

"Ouch," the Sheriff huffed, slapping a hand against his chest. "That was a brutal comeback Stiles. Your best yet."

"Cut me a _little_ slack," he insisted. "I've only been back two weeks. I'm off my game."

"Oh, I don't know about that son. You seemed to be doing just fine with Parrish."

Stiles head snapped up, a sarcastic comment on the tip of his tongue but he was cut off by the arrival of the waitress, who plunked down two glasses of iced tea before quickly scribbling down their orders and fluttering away again. It was funny really, because both Stiles and his father asked for the same thing that they always did, and he had no doubt that Josie, the lunchtime chef, had started both plates as soon as they'd walked in the door. Their food would be delivered within minutes of the order slip being turned in. Sipping at his tea, his eyes wandered around the diner, taking in all the same old fixtures, all the same old patrons. He nodded to a few, smiled to a few more, slouched in his seat and threw his feet up onto the bench across from him next to his dad's hip.

"You're already bored," the Sheriff observed.

"No I'm not!" Stiles denied vehemently. "I love hanging out with my pops!"

The Sheriff snorted, grinned wryly. "I meant in general Stiles. I know you weren't planning on coming home this summer and I know Beacon Hills isn't exactly as… exciting as campus…"

"Woah, woah." Stiles threw up both hands in a motion of surrender. "Dad, you don't… I mean, you're not doing the guilt thing are you?"

His dad frowned, opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out, and Stiles was about to take the lead on the conversation when their waitress came back and interrupted once again, bequeathing him with a massive cheeseburger and his dad with a grilled chicken breast tossed in a healthy version of Josie's famous barbecue sauce. He waited until she turned the last plate in its arbitrarily proper direction before trying again, speaking around a mouthful of curly fries.

"Dad I don't want you to feel like you put me out by having a stress attack," he garbled as she walked away.

The Sheriff just harrumphed, avoiding his eyes as he used a knife and fork to flick half his Caesar salad disparagingly onto Stiles' plate while at the same time trying to save his fair share of the curly fries from his son's greedy fingers.

"Seriously," he added, picking up his burger, "It's not like you planned it. And I think I would have come home anyway. Finals week was _dark_, and I could definitely use a few months in the slow lane."

"But you're still bored," his dad replied, finally looking up at him as he started in on his chicken.

Stiles' quirked his mouth around a huge bite, contemplated. "I think I just over did it," he decided finally. "Too much too fast, you know? Should've eased into it. I'm sure I can get back into the groove."

"So that's your plan?" he asked with half a laugh. "Video games and junk food?"

"Pretty much," Stiles grinned. "Scott's gonna be around, so I'll have him to hang out with too. That is if him and Allison ever come up for air."

"Those two still going strong then?"

"Yep. It's cute, in a… grossly co-dependent kind of way. But Deaton will be keeping Scott busy at the clinic and Allison's helping her dad teach weapons safety classes, so…"

His dad hummed contemplatively, chewed and swallowed. "You might think about that yourself," he said, pointing his fork at Stiles before flicking through the lettuce on his plate.

"What, taking a weapons safety class? Why? You taught me to respect guns right around the time I learned to tie my shoes."

"I meant a summer job," the Sheriff corrected, rolling his eyes. "Be something to keep you occupied and you'd make a little money on the side."

"Hmm. No promises," Stiles offered. "I'm not sure how I feel about spending my time off _working_."

"Unless of course you've got an opening down at the station?"

"What did I tell you about stalking my deputies?" his father groaned, raising his eyes to the heavens.

"Time to ante up then," Stiles grinned, popping the last of his burger into his mouth. "Tell me _all _the things."

"Not all that much to tell," his dad said, smirking at Stiles low whine of complaint. "Two new deputies, both rookies. Parrish you met. Twenty three, a little too… _chipper_ in the mornings if you ask me. Always got a smile on his face, eager to please. I've been thinking about bringing in a K9 Unit for a few years, and the kid's got a lot of experience with dogs. Born and bred local, his family raises Shepherds on a farm up near Lancaster."

"Three years older than me," Stiles commented, stroking the thumb along the corner of his mouth as he thought. "How come I don't remember him?"

"Home schooled apparently," the Sheriff replied, finishing the last of his salad and crossing his silverware over his plate. Their waitress had been hovering nearby the last few minutes and swooped in to remove their plates, leaving the bill at the edge of the table. "But he's seems to be a good kid. It's only been three days and the whole station loves him."

"Yeah, he seemed nice," Stiles replied automatically.

"Oh really?"

"Oh god, don't look at me like that," Stiles groaned, sliding down into the booth until his chin was level with the table. "It's not like I've got… _designs _on the guy. I'm just…"

"Bored."

Stiles scowled, pulling himself back up and dragging the bill towards his chest before wiggling his wallet out of his back pocket. Folding it open, he riffled through it before sending his dad a sheepish grin.

"Ummm…"

The Sheriff sighed, rolled his eyes once again before fishing out his own wallet, sticking a twenty and change underneath his half-empty glass.

"Sure you don't want to rethink that summer job idea?" he asked smugly as they stood, waving to Josie behind the counter before heading for the door.

"Being a poor college student is an art form that I have perfected," Stiles replied. "But you might be right. So about that opening down at the station…"

"No. I'm not paying you to sit around and ogle Parrish."

"That's cool," Stiles replied as they climbed into the jeep. "I've got my own game." Grinning, he popped the collar of his shirt cockily before backing out. "I don't need your help landing a date."

"And thank god for that," The Sheriff muttered. "But I'm serious Stiles. I want to get this K9 Unit off the ground; I can't have you scaring him off."

"Your confidence in me is baffling," Stiles deadpanned. "Am I that bad?"

"Have you forgotten your seven year obsession with one Lydia Martin?"

Stiles scoffed. "Please. I was totally subtle. At least, I was before I hit puberty. And that turned out great; Lydia's my best friend."

"Her boyfriend took out a restraining order against you."

"Which he later withdrew!" Stiles yelped in indignation. "Besides, Jackson was a total…"

"The _point_," his father insisted, "Is that you can be… _persistent_, Stiles."

"Not exactly a bad thing," he whined in self-defense.

"No, it's not. And I love you, don't get me wrong. I love having you _here_. But so help me God Stiles, if _Parrish_ takes out a restraining order against you…"

"They'll never find my body?" he guessed, pulling up in front of the station.

"There's my boy," the Sheriff smiled, reaching over to squeeze Stiles' shoulder before climbing out of the jeep.

"Yeah, well," Stiles grinned through the window, "Wouldn't want the Sheriff put under suspicion in a missing person's case now would we? And I'm not exactly looking to be brought up on harassment charges either. Life in the slow lane, remember?"

The Sheriff nodded, knocked twice on the jeep's hood and headed inside. It wasn't until he'd pulled halfway out of his parking space, his dad disappearing through the lobby doors that Stiles realized he hadn't gotten anything on the second deputy.


	3. Google King

The next afternoon, Stiles found himself sunk down in the couch cushions once again, three seasons into Futurama and sucking Dorito dust off his fingers. He was shirtless, dressed only in the athletic shorts he'd worn to bed the night before, and there were crumbs sprinkled all down his chest, video game cartridges scattered at his feet. He felt heavy and a little too warm, and when his computer chimed with a notification from Netflix asking if he was still watching, he was suddenly personally offended by his state of slob. Sticky and gross, adjectives that wouldn't have bothered him in his high school years, now seemed the worst of all the things he could be.

Well, not the worst.

Bored was the worst.

And he _was_ bored.

It might have been because his dad had so helpfully pointed it out the day before, or it might've been because Scott had cancelled on their lunch plans at the pizza place over on Fifth, but regardless of the cause Stiles was feeling the boredom, and it was only the end of the first week of May. School didn't start up again until September, leaving him with four long months of nothing stretching out endlessly before him, and if today was any indication, he wasn't going to be able to count on Scott as much as he'd been planning to. He had a pretty heavy schedule interning with Deaton at the clinic for the summer, trying to get in as many hours as possible as he worked towards his vet tech's degree, and Stiles had learned that Allison's status as the girlfriend was going to trump his own as the best friend every time.

So...

Groaning loudly, Stiles rolled off the couch and gathered up the trash littered around him, carrying it into the kitchen and stuffing it into the bin beneath the sink. Wetting a cloth from the cabinet, he returned to the living room and wiped down the coffee table, pulled out the rarely-used vacuum and sucked up all his crumbs. He felt better having cleaned up the little hazard area he'd created and decided to give himself a quick rinse too, jumping in and out of a cool shower, almost cold. He could feel a backed-up energy buzzing beneath his skin but he tamped it down, popping two Adderall to make up for the one he'd skipped that morning. He was facing options now, different ones than he'd expected, but options none the less, and having cleaned himself up a bit, cleared his head and brushed his teeth, he could choose between them with the cutting intelligence and clarity that a double major had forced him to develop.

He couldn't do this. This summer full of nothing. He knew himself and he knew his nature, and he knew he couldn't do this. Boredom was Stiles' Kryptonite; it had the potential to land him either in a pair of handcuffs or a straightjacket.

But Stiles knew the truth as well.

Research could set you free… and he was the Google King.

Carrying his laptop to the dining room table, he poured himself a glass of ice water and settled into one of the wooden, straight-backed chairs, ready for an hour or two of down and dirty work in the cyber classifieds.

He'd known when he started that he was going to have to weed through a ridiculous number of pages and sites just to find something in the area and he wasn't wrong. He had transportation, true, but the jeep was a gas guzzler, and he didn't want to spend all the money he earned getting to and from said job. Beacon Hills was way too small to pinpoint itself, but once he set his search bar to look in surrounding areas he got better results. From there it was on to more important things; finding something that was going to hold his interest, something that he wouldn't have him flipping burgers or counting back cash all day. That would be worse than doing nothing at all, leave him open to all kinds of messiness when he inevitably quit three weeks in.

No, he needed something more than your typical summer job.

He needed a challenge.

And so he searched, opening up any and every ad that caught his eye, though that probably wasn't the best strategy. He had to dish out mad props for some of the subject lines though; the scourge of the internet were a creative bunch. It was amazing really, the cleverness of some people, their way with words. He was certain that he could never disguise a sex add so neatly, even with his extensive knowledge of world mythos. Still, as prolific and high-paying as many of said ads were, it wasn't quite the type of challenge he was looking for.

So back to Google it was, for a new search with closer parameters and different key words.

_House Boy _had certainly been a mistake.

What the hell was he thinking? There were so many better ways to say jack-of-all-trades.

An hour and a half later Stiles was a little disappointed with what he'd found. He'd only bookmarked five job postings so far, none of which he was particularly interested in. The most promising one was a magazine looking for someone to write essays for them, but that wouldn't get him out of the house and after his recent finals he really wasn't looking to write any more papers. Glancing at the clock, he tapped his fingers anxiously against the table. His leg had been bouncing for the last fifteen minutes and he knew he needed to take a break or else he was going to do something stupid, like reply to a request for a sugar baby or offer to write a high school student's statistics final.

Deciding on one last try before he gave it up for the afternoon, Stiles clicked through his search engine one more time and ended up breaking into a loud, disbelieving sort of laugh.

Google. King.

Because there it was, finally. Right at the very top of the page, a subject line that jumped off the screen and shouted at him with abandon.

* * *

**Summer Sitter Needed for 5 Year Old Werewolf Triplets**

* * *

Now _that _sounded like a challenge.

And what do you know, it was listed out of Beacon Hills.

Interest and something like excitement sparked in Stiles' chest and he found himself leaning in towards the screen as he opened up the full ad. He loved kids; it was one of the main reasons that he'd followed in his mother's footsteps and gone into social work, and he knew from experience that no two days were the same when you were working with five year olds. Pushing down the tingling in his stomach, he read through the ad carefully before slumping back in his chair with a huff.

* * *

**Sitter needed for three high-energy boys Monday through Friday from 9:30AM till 8:30PM. Tasks will include some minor shopping, cooking, and cleaning, but your primary responsibility will be looking after the kids. Lunch and dinner, bath and bed included, as well as games, exercise, and generally keeping them occupied. **

**Creativity is going to help you here!**

**You must have your own transportation. Experience with children is also a must, and any experience with werewolves will be well looked-upon. Background check, references, and interview required.**

****Must be available on the weekend of August 25****th****to travel out of state for a pack reunion, returning on the 28****th********

**Reply to address below.**

* * *

Wow.

This sounded… great.

Really, actually great.

Keeping up with three little boys all week would easily be enough to whip him into shape, and there was no doubt in his mind that if he were to get the job, he would never be bored. In fact, this seemed to be right up his alley. A student of social work, home only for the summer, whose second degree in mythology left him with an endless wellspring of bedtime stories to plumb…

It was fate.

Fate… or some serious search skills.

Stiles broke into a huge, self-congratulatory grin, clicked REPLY, and crafted a carefully structured response in which he briefly outlined the internship at the children's shelter he'd completed in his third semester, how he'd helped Scott learn to cope with being a werewolf after being bitten by a rogue Alpha in highschool, and a bit about his own personality that he felt might make him a good match for the ad's requirements. Expressing his hope for the opportunity to interview for the job, he detailed his contact information and signed off, sending the missive into the ether with a feeling of supreme satisfaction.

Closing his laptop, Stiles deposited his glass in the sink and trotted up to his room to change, whistling a jaunty tune as he went. He felt good having accomplished something, having a vague plan in mind for the days to come, and he wasn't going to let the fact that none of it was certain dampen his mood. He thought briefly of going back up to the station to see if Deputy Parrish - _Kyle_ - was around, but a quick check of the clock told him that his father would be ensconced in his office for at least the next forty minutes catching up on his daily mountain of paperwork and putting a wrench in his stalking plans.

Still, some burn-off needed to happen here, so he swapped his sweats for a pair of athletic shorts and a burgundy-colored Beacon Hills Lacrosse t-shirt, laced his running shoes tight, and pocketing his cellphone and his keys before heading out the door.

The run started off easy, a light jog down the sidewalk, but it only took him ten minutes to reach the head of the trail that led down into the Preserve and it was there that he found exactly what he was looking for - sweat and pain and a hard, pounding pulse. The terrain was rough and varied, and the sun was beating down on Stiles' shoulders, but the stretch and burn of muscle felt amazing after days of slothful behavior, and so he continued to push himself to greater and greater speeds along the trail.

After putting on his freshman fifteen, he had gone back to the cross country training program his old coach had always insisted upon, shedding the weight and slowly toning his body until he was hard and lean with muscle, enough that he could leave the adjective 'gangly' behind and grow a little bit of self-confidence. Maintaining that regimen was to his benefit- the running helped to slow his thoughts down, strangely enough helped him to breathe. Stiles knew the trails like the back of his hand, so he could follow them purely by instinct and memory, his mind occupied with a calm sort of hum that let him fully experience the beauty of the day and the uncivilized depths of the Preserve around him, the sun and the breeze and the smell of the loam around him.

Before he knew it he'd run the whole of the trail he was on, round and through the back of the park and up onto the main road again. It was only the change to asphalt beneath his shoes that brought him out of his non-thoughts and made him aware of the traffic winging by. Stopping for half a minute to catch his breath, he decided to head in the direction of the station. If he caught his dad before he left for the day he could tell him about the job, make sure that the Sheriff was ready to provide him with a good reference. Trotting along at a much more sedate pace, he nevertheless made good time, hitting the lobby at about a quarter till six. His dad got out a little early on Wednesdays if it was slow, which meant he had fifteen minutes to make his case and bum a ride back to the house.

Which was a good thing, because he was a mess. It had been almost three weeks since he'd run and he could already tell that the pleasant burn in his muscles was soon going to give way to a dull ache. His hair was damp, scraped straight back from his forehead, and there was a dark v of sweat running down from his collar, plastering his thin t-shirt to his chest and the small of his back. He had no doubt that his face was flush red - he was too pale to escape that kind of consequence to any physical exertion - so he took a quick detour through the back hallway where the vending machines were housed. He hadn't brought any money with him but he knew exactly where and how to kick the ancient thing to make it cough up an ice cold bottle of water without coinage. Pressing the bottle to the side of his neck, he swung upright again and stepped back, only to get knocked into hard and sent careening towards the floor, where he landed on his ass with a loud yelp.

"Ow!" he complained loudly from his position on the tile. "Dude, what the hel…lo!"

It was Deputy Tall, Dark, and Handsome, scowling down at him with a look like murder, as though he were dreaming of snapping Stiles in half. His eyes took a quick vacation, scanning the man from boots to biceps, and decided that he could accomplish that dream with ease. Wetting his lips, Stiles swallowed nervously and put on a smile, one that he hoped wasn't as wildly untethered as he suddenly felt.

"Uh, hi," he tried again, waiting for a hand up off the floor that never came. "Sorry about that, I…

"Civilians aren't allowed back here," the man interrupted, and Stiles frowned.

Not the reaction he was looking for.

Besides, he knew the rules.

If this guy wanted to pull rank, Stiles had bad news: he had about twenty years seniority over this rookie.

"Really?" he heard himself deadpan, pulling his knees up to his chest and draping his arms over them as he cracked his water bottle and took a few long pulls. "Not even when they're being interrogated or thrown in the tank?"

Stiles saw the man's upper lip tug in an aborted sneer and he was suddenly reminded of Summanus, the Roman god of nocturnal thunder. It fit him well, all dark power wrapped up in a sinfully attractive package, and he felt a bolt of heat shoot through his belly.

"Which is it you're here to volunteer for again?" the deputy ground out.

Stiles arched an eyebrow. Huh. Pretty good comeback. He hadn't been expecting that.

"Neither," he replied with a grin, ready to play his trump card just to see how the man would react. "Perks of being the Sheriff's kid."

Stiles had never seen a person go so pale so fast.

The man lost all the color in his face, going a pasty white, and Stiles swore that he heard his breath catch in his throat. Panic flared in his eyes, a lovely grayish-green, but then it was gone and he was swallowing, his shoulders straightening like he was preparing to face down a firing squad. It was the look of a man ready to defend his job, and Stiles was about to raise his hands in supplicating motion when his father rounded the corner, headed back to his office with a stack of files in hand.

"_Why_ are you on the floor?" he asked, Stiles saw the deputy flinch minutely as he half-turned to face the Sheriff who had appeared behind his shoulder.

"Counting the tiles," Stiles replied seriously, the answer rolling smoothly off his tongue. "There are fewer than there were last week. I have a theory… inter-departmental conspiracy."

"Right." His dad rolled his eyes. "And you think Derek's involved?"

Stiles felt a wicked-sort of smile tip at the corners of his mouth. Derek, was it? Interesting.

"I was just on my way out to the Buchannan's, Sir," the deputy cut in as he edged slowly for the door, and Stiles snorted.

The Buchannan sisters called in almost weekly to report that someone had been trespassing on their property, but no one was ever caught because they refused to provide the information the police needed to do anything about it. As any high school student could tell you, the old biddies cultivated a mean strain of Mary Jane, and they kept authority access to the property strictly limited. Was actually rather cruel of his dad to send a newbie out there alone to take statements… considering.

But the thunder god was glaring at him again, confusion and relief warring in his eyes, so Stiles just grinned and tossed the man a wink.

"Later Deputy Derek," he said cheekily before taking pity on him and tossing out a piece of advice. "Beware the goat dude."

Derek's eyebrows, which Stiles had already gathered were his main mode of communication, dropped low on his brow as the man scowled, nodding to the Sheriff before turning on the heel of his boot and striding away towards the lobby. Stiles looked at his father disapprovingly and clicked his tongue.

"How could you not warn him about the goat?" he asked, referencing the one-hundred pound boar goat that the sisters kept in lieu of a guard dog. "That's just wrong."

"Everybody's gotta learn son," the Sheriff replied with a touch of laughter in his tone. "Besides, how do you know I didn't warn him?"

"Did you see how fast he ran out of here?" Stiles asked, taking his father's hand and getting hauled up off the floor. "Everybody drags their feet when they get called out to the Buchannan's."

"Maybe he was just trying to get away from you," his dad responded simply, and Stiles slapped a hand to his heart in mock offense.

"My company is delightful!" he declared as they stepped into the Sheriff's office. "Exactly what are you implying?"

"I'm not _implying _anything," his dad stated, dropping into his chair and turning towards his computer. "You reek."

"Aw crap!" Stiles groaned, taking a quick sniff under his arms. "Seriously?" Sure, he was sweaty from his run, but at least it was nice, clean, male testosterone sweat. Eau de manly Stiles. "It's not that bad is it?"

He looked up just in time to catch his dad rolling his eyes.

"If _I_ think you reek, Derek probably feels like he got hit in the face with a baseball bat," he mumbled, fingers typing away at his keyboard. "Pretty big downside to all those heightened senses if you ask me."

"Woah, woah, wait," Stiles reeled, "Back up! Heightened senses? What…"

"He's a _werewolf_ Stiles. Did you really not notice?" His dad, turned away from his computer to face him, suddenly concerned. "That's not like you. Are you feeling all right?"

"Yeah," Stiles muttered, his brain running away at a hundred miles an hour. "I'm fine. So he's a werewolf too huh? Beacon Hills is really moving up in the world."

The Sheriff raised an eyebrow. "Too?"

Stiles shook his head. "Never mind. Tell me about Deputy Derek! You neglected him the other day, you still owe me half my information."

His father huffed a 'why me' sigh, dragged a hand over his face before leaning back in his chair.

"Derek Hale, twenty six, only just recently moved to town. Beta in a fairly large pack – they used to hold territory here in California but they've moved a bit north now from what I understand. His mother is their Alpha, rather well-known too, apparently. She's a True Form."

"Wow," Stiles murmured, impressed. "That's super rare."

"Hmm."

"Well?" Stiles demanded when the narrative didn't resume. "What else?"

"Nothing else," his dad answered, spreading his palms. "He just moved to town about a month ago, don't know why or from where. He needed a job, we needed another deputy… you do the math."

Stiles humphed, somewhat disappointed with his source, but his father quickly distracted him.

"So why did you come down?" he asked, turning back to his computer once more. "I assume it wasn't to count the tiles."

"Oh yeah!" Stiles grinned, suddenly remembering his original purpose and feeling another flood of excitement surge through him. "I took your advice. You know, about the summer job? I made Google my bitch and found the perfect one!"

His dad cocked an eyebrow, unimpressed with Stiles' pause for dramatic effect.

"Somebody needs a sitter for a bunch of werewolf kids!" he revealed with a flourish. "How awesome is that? So you have to write me a good reference and make sure my background check goes through."

"Would it not?" his dad asked in his 'I am the Sheriff' voice. "That's a huge commitment Stiles. A huge responsibility. Someone else's kids…"

"Dad, I know," Stiles said seriously. "Believe me. But this is what I want, you know? It's why I'm studying social work…"

"I know son," his father replied quietly, and a heavy silence abruptly enveloped the both of them as the image of the late Claudia Stilinski swam from the mists of memory. "Your mom would be proud of you Stiles," he father said, his voice thick. "And I am too, even if I… don't say it as often as I should."

Stiles blinked away hot tears that suddenly filled his eyes, swallowing around the knot in his own throat. "Thanks dad," he murmured.

"Yeah, well," the Sheriff replied gruffly, breaking the tension stretched between them. "You're still walking home. You stink, and I don't want you in my cruiser."

"Aw come on!"


	4. What the Hell is a Stiles?

"Go order me a caramel macchiato," Erica demanded. "Oh! And a blackberry muffin!"

"Why don't I just get you a five pound bag of sugar and a spoon?" Derek grumbled, squeezing past her to get out of his seat and head towards the counter. It was way too early and the coffee shop was too crowded for his tastes, and the reason he was there wasn't helping his attitude any either.

The curvy blonde just grinned, aware that he couldn't say no to any request she put to him, no matter how much of a bad mood he was in. And he wouldn't - not after everything she and her husband Boyd had done for him in the last three months. They had been invaluable in half a dozen ways, beloved friends and a source of pack when his own was so far away. Comfort, stability, not just for him but for the boys, who needed it so badly.

Waiting in line in the front of the coffee shop, Derek felt the heavy weight of responsibility come down on his shoulders again, the crushing fear that he wasn't doing the right thing. It had been his constant nightmare ever since he'd moved down to Beacon hills from Colorado, that this wasn't what was best for the triplets. Probably not for him either, but it was the only thing he could think of, the only way he knew to keep them… safe. Swallowing hard around the knot in his throat, he placed Erica's order and headed back towards the booth near the window, this time sliding in across from her instead of at her side.

"Remind me why I'm here again?" he sighed heavily, scrubbing one hand down over his eyes.

"Relax," Erica replied, flipping open the manila file folder on the table top in front of her. "Please? We're early, so you've got a few minutes to get your grumpy face under control."

Looking up from where he was idly tossing a creamer cup back and forth between his hands, Derek glared at the top of her curly golden hair and his eyes flashed a jeweled blue.

"That's the one," she muttered, pointing a finger at him without even bothering to glance at his face. "Seriously, I don't want you scaring off another applicant."

"That wasn't my fault!" he growled indignantly, slouching back in the booth and crossing his arms over his chest.

He and Erica had interviewed five people so far, all women, but as soon as they'd had two minutes to run their eyes over him the whole thing had gone out the window. The three teenagers he could almost forgive, but the two house moms going through their mid-life crises he could not. Erica would have given one or two of them a chance but he'd shot that down, a shiver tripping along his spine at the thought of having any of them in his house, watching his kids. It must have shown on his face too, because as the interview had progressed they had all gone from smiles and flirtation to a nervous, withdrawn anxiety, and had practically run out the door upon dismissal, casting mixed looks of fear and lust at him over their shoulders.

"It _was_ your fault," Erica deadpanned.

"Then why am I even here?" he snapped. "You wrote the ad without my help, you can do this too."

"Because, _Derek_," she explained in a voice that clearly said she shouldn't have to be doing just that. "You know I love the boys, but I can't handle them full time any more. And I'm…" Here she paused, a sad little frown on her face, and guilt flared in her scent. "I'm sorry about that, but…"

"_Erica_," he interrupted, reaching across the table to squeeze her fingers, "God, I'm not… I'm not _mad_. You know that right?" Cupping her chin in his hand, he lifted her face to meet her eyes, soft and anxious with guilt and worry. "I promise," he urged. "And I get it, believe me. You and Boyd have your own kids, your own life - one that you put on hold for me when I needed you. But we both knew that couldn't last forever, true? You'd go nuts taking care of all five of those kids every day by yourself, hell, anybody would. And now you're starting a new job..."

At the mention of her recent acceptance as a writer for a well-known werewolf mommy-blog Derek finally got a smile out of her, and the confidence that usually glowed around her came flooding back.

"Still," she replied softly, closing the file in front of her, "I know this is hard for you. Finding someone you can trust to take care of them… I know how hard it is for me."

"And that's why we're here," he sighed, leaning back in his seat again.

"Exactly. I wrote a pretty good ad if I do say so myself, and everyone who's replied meets those requirements, but we both know you're going to want more than that, so…"

"I can't help it Erica," he mumbled, slumping his shoulders. "After everything we've been through, everything…" He frowned and looked away out the window, his throat tightening again. "It has to feel right. Has to feel safe."

"And safe isn't some high school cheerleader more interested in playing with you than your kids."

Derek rolled his eyes. "No," he replied flatly. "It's definitely not."

"And I get that," Erica replied, scooting out of the booth as her name was called from somewhere behind the counter. "Really. But Derek…"

Derek abruptly regretted having gotten up to follow her as she linked her arm through his, pulling him in close to her side, even if it was nice - the nearness and the physical contact he'd missed so much lately since leaving his pack.

"It's ok to look, you know?"

"And have to arrest myself for statutory?" he asked. "No thanks."

"That's not what I meant and you know it," she scolded gently, bumping him with her shoulder as they slipped into line to pick up her coffee. "Going on a date once in a while wouldn't kill you."

Derek huffed a silent, derisive sort of laugh, causing Erica to blush heavily.

"Bad choice of words," she admitted quietly. "But at least you can talk about it now, right? That has to mean something. Maybe going out…"

"I'm all right," he promised. "We're doing well, or as well as we can be I guess. But the kids are still adjusting to all of this, and I'm just… not looking right now, ok? And definitely not for teeny-boppers or empty-nest moms."

"Fine," Erica chuckled. "I'll let it go. Besides, we've got someone a little different lined up today. Twenty-two, home for the summer from college. He's studying social work and mythology…"

"A guy?" Derek asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Is that a problem?" Erica asked, breezily enough because she knew it wasn't.

"Just… different," Derek replied. "Did he pass the background check?"

"With flying colors. This is our last chance Derek, and I think he'll be a good fit. I mean, he lives in town, has a clean driving record... His name's Stiles, I think he's actually…"

"What the hell is a Stiles?" he interrupted. It was a weird name, but he was sure he'd heard it somewhere before…

"Oh, hey, that's me!" a voice chirped, and Derek looked up to see the last person standing between them and the counter swinging around, a to-go cup of black coffee in his hand. "I'm a Sti…. Wait, Deputy Derek?!"

"Oh my God, you two know each other?" Erica grinned.

Derek just stared, apparently unable to find his tongue. It was the kid, the one from the station, the Sheriff's kid. The one he'd crashed into and then snarled at, annoyed and confused by the way his wolf had immediately reacted to the boy, snuffling after the clean sweat that had soaked his hair and his shirt, devoured the flush that lit his cheekbones and dripped down the column of his throat beneath his collar. He looked calmer today - less frazzled, less _smug_. He was dressed in a pair of khakis and a navy button-down, the sleeves rolled up over his forearms, but there was still a crackling sort of energy to him, a strong, clean scent that tickled in his chest.

"Um, yeah," the boy answered watching Derek nervously as he turned to Erica and offered her his hand. "We bumped in to each other at the station a few days ago. I'm Stiles… Stilinski. And you must be Mrs. Deputy Derek."

Erica finally released Derek's arm to return the handshake, all smiles as she laughed and shook her head. "Erica Boyd," she corrected. "Derek's a good friend of my husband and me. It's nice to meet you Stiles." Reaching around the young man to grab her coffee and muffin from the counter, she gestured towards their window booth. "Shall we?" Aiming a less than discreet kick at Derek's ankles, she led Stiles back to the booth, leaving him to trail along behind.

"So Stiles," Erica began, opening up the file folder she'd left on the table and taking a sip of her macchiato as Stiles slipped in across from her, "You're background check and your driving record came back clean; that's wasn't your dad's doing was it?"

Derek's eyes went wide as he slid in next to her, shocked by her forwardness, but Stiles just laughed, a full, pleasant sound that was calming on his nerves, still jangled by the surprise encounter.

"Nah," he answered easily. "Beacon Hills is in good hands; their Sheriff isn't one for falsifying records."

Erica smiled back but Derek felt frozen, unsure why he couldn't seem to shake himself out of his shock. He sat silent as stone on the red vinyl bench, his hands gripping his thighs beneath the edge of the table, and his silence seemed to be taking its toll. Erica was glaring at him, waiting for him to speak, and Stiles was turning his coffee cup nervously between his hands, opening and closing his mouth as though he weren't sure if he should speak at all.

Derek had just made up his mind to let the quiet reign when the young man across from him swallowed, frowned, and looked up to meet his eyes.

"Look, if this is weird I can go," he said finally, jerking a thumb back over his shoulder at the door. "I mean, my dad's your boss; that's gotta be weird."

"No!" Erica yelped beside him, practically lunging across the table. "It's fine, really."

Neither Derek nor Stiles spared her a glance.

They were too busy locked in their own little staring match.

And that was something different for him. Something that his wolf took great interest in. He wasn't used to his gaze being held so strongly – he maintained a fairly high position within his mother's pack, and so Stiles' steady amber contemplation was challenging in a way that put a spark of excitement in his belly. It reminded him of the rare glass of honeyed aconite-whiskey he indulged in, deep and warm but with a strong bite hiding underneath it, and it made him wonder… The others had shied from his cold dismissal but so far Stiles hadn't, and in a perverse little push Derek flashed his eyes, eager to note the boy's reaction.

It wasn't the one he expected.

Stiles cocked an eyebrow, smirked before lifting his coffee cup and taking a sip, grimacing and reaching for a packet of sugar.

"Should probably apologize before I go," he said casually, tearing open the little pink package and swirling the cup around. "Didn't mean to freak you out the other day."

Derek frowned, opened his mouth to protest but Stiles cut him off.

"Dude, you looked like a man headed for the firing squad." He paused, his cup halfway to his mouth and grinned. "Hah! _Firing _squad. Anyway. I've got some sway down at the station, true. Happens when you grow up there. But I don't have _that_ much. My dad's not gonna fire you just for threatening to throw me in a holding cell. Hell, he'd probably promote you if you managed to pull it off."

"You threatened your boss's son?" Erica hissed.

"What? No!" Derek protested indignantly before turning on Stiles with a scowl. "And don't call me dude! If you've got the power to get me hired, you can get me fired too!"

"Please," Stiles snorted, taking another sip of his coffee before apparently giving up on it and pushing it away. "I just told you, that's not going to happen." Placing his hands flat on the table, he moved to stand, sliding from the bench to his feet. "You'll see. It's a pretty good group down there."

"Stiles wait!" Erica pleaded, placing her hand on Derek's shoulder and shoving as though she wanted out of the booth, wanted to be able to grab the kid and hold him back. "Please? We'd still like to do the interview, and you're kind of our last hope here."

Surprise flitted over the boy's face but he masked it quickly, aiming a look at Derek that clearly asked the question. Huffing, he frowned but waved a hand all the same, watching silently as he sank back down into the booth, folding his hands together on the table.

"Kinda showing your hand there," he said calmly, looking between the two of them, but Erica just shrugged.

"I won't say we're desperate," she answered simply. "But we're kind of desperate."

"Your kids then?" he asked, his eyes flicking over to Derek again and running over his Deputy's uniform. "And you're here to, what? Scare the new nanny?"

"They're _my _kids," Derek snarled, and he could feel his teeth sharpen in his mouth.

It was a touchy subject - sue him.

Stiles didn't respond, just nodded, tapping the middle fingers of his right hand against the table top.

"Like I said, my husband and I are friends of the family," Erica said, clearly attempting to smooth the tension between them. "I've been watching the boys for the last few weeks, but I'm starting a new job soon, so I'm helping Derek find a sitter. If you get the job I'll be helping you get situated as well, show you a few of the ropes. And I'll be working from home, so I'm an easy emergency contact if you ever need any help."

"Should I be anticipating a lot of emergencies?" he asked.

Erica's mouth quirked but Derek thought it was a good question, one that hadn't been asked yet by any of the other applicants.

"That depends," Erica replied. "Tell us a little bit about yourself. What kind of experience do you have with kids and werewolves?"

"Well," Stiles began, settling back into his seat. "I do have a lot of experience with kids. I used to watch my younger cousins a lot, and I'm getting my degree in social work, so I'm doing the academic stuff. We're also required to do field work and service learning projects, so I've worked with kids in schools and in hospitals, anywhere from six months to thirteen years old. You have my letters of recommendation?"

"I do," Erica replied, shuffling some papers before sliding the file over in front of Derek. He hadn't read any of it yet, trusting her to do the preliminary legwork in his stead, but he was still intrigued.

"Why social work?" he asked, sure that it was unusual for a young man's major even though he'd never gotten the chance to go to college himself. "Not a job that a lot of guys go in for."

Stiles chewed on his lip for a minute, apparently debating whether or not to answer, and it put Derek on alert.

"I'm not a perv, if that's what you're worried about," Stiles finally answered back before tapping his hand against his chest. "No lie, right?"

Derek frowned but shook his head. His heartbeat hadn't skipped a note.

"My mom was a social worker," the young man blurted suddenly, and his cheeks flushed as he looked down at the tabletop. "She helped a lot of kids, so…"

Derek noticed the past tense but didn't quite understand it. The Sheriff still wore a wedding ring, but the scent of sorrow was hanging heavy in the air around him. Erica noticed it too, and was quick to steer the conversation forward.

"Any experience with werewolves in particular?" she asked, and Stiles immediately brightened, a grin lighting him up.

"Yeah, definitely," he smiled. "My best friend, Scott, he's a werewolf. He was turned by a rogue alpha in high school, so of course he didn't have a pack. I pretty much did all the work." Here he snickered, running his thumb along the edge of his lower lip - a movement Derek's eyes followed intently. "I did a ton of research, one of my _many _hidden talents, and basically taught him how to be a werewolf. I remember, this one time, I spent the day pelting him with lacrosse balls to teach him how to control his…"

Trailing off, his eyes went wide as he paled, throwing up his hands.

"Not that I would _ever_…"

Erica was laughing but Derek just watched him grimly, his face dark until Stiles swallowed and began bouncing his knee under the table.

"Derek, stop it," Erica scolded, smacking him in the ribs.

"Anyway," Stiles continued. "I learned a lot from him, from helping him. We've picked up some friends along the way too – one of them lives in town, Isaac Lahey?"

"Oh, we've met Isaac!" Erica smiled, and Derek nodded.

He'd come across the young beta on a run just a few days after moving in, and they'd spoken a few times since, gravitating towards each other as wolves without pack were wont to do. Stiles nodded, tapped his fingers on the table and continued.

"So I've got my own car. Um… I'm a pretty good cook, so I'm cool with the shopping and stuff. No plans for the summer, so I can do mornings or nights, whatever you need. And I'm clear for August… you need help with a family reunion right?"

"Road trip," Derek corrected, heaviness flooding his chest as he thought about the ordeal scheduled at the end of his summer. "It's… _hours_ up to Colorado, and flying's out, so we're driving. The pack is all coming in, and it's loud and crazy and pretty musc just a mess, so I need another pair of eyes."

"That's not a problem," Stiles said, looking contemplative. "I could do that."

"Sounds like you'd be a pretty good match," Erica said confidently. "Do you have any questions for us?"

"Yeah, one." Stiles frowned, chewing his lip again, and Derek could hear his heart pick up. "Where's mom?"

Derek felt like ice water had been poured into his lungs, locking up his airways and sending a shiver down his spine. His hands had tightened around the edges of the table and he knew his eyes were glowing but he couldn't pull it back, any more than he could pull back the low growl that was somehow clawing its way out of his chest. Erica was looking at him anxiously, hissing his name but he ignored her, spitting out his answer through clenched teeth.

"She's not in the picture," he snarled. "Understood?"

"Easy dude," Stiles responded in a low, smooth voice, his spiking pulse belying the force behind his calm tone. "I'm not asking to be a dick, ok? Sheriff's kid here. I just need to know what kind of contact she's allowed to have."

"None," Erica answered for him, stomping the spike of her heel into his boot and giving him another five seconds to get himself under control. "Derek has full custody and a restraining order against the boys' mother. She's not allowed within five hundred yards of the kids, ok?"

"Got it. Picture?"

"Not necessary," Derek growled, eyes still bright blue. "She's in prison, and that's not about to change."

"Heavy," he said seriously. "Anything else I should know?"

"We haven't scared you off?" Erica asked warily.

"Shit happens," Stiles replied diplomatically. "And I get that you don't really want to talk about it, but if anything changes… just don't leave me out of the loop yeah? I like to know who my bad guys are."

And that, that simple statement of acceptance, had all the anger flooding out of him. This kid, who he hadn't even hired yet, was already taking possession of Derek's past mistakes, already standing up as a shield between his kids and the shadows that haunted their steps. None of the others had given even the slightest signs that they might come to eventually _care _for his boys, none of them had ever even gotten so far as this. Erica was saying something to Stiles but Derek couldn't hear anything but a dull ringing in his ears. Shaking his head minutely, he pushed down the wolf inside him, shook the strange warmth that had settled along his spine and dragged himself back to awareness, just in time to hear Erica issuing the invitation that would set the rest of Derek's summer into motion.

"… come over tomorrow and meet the kids?"

"That'd be awesome!" Stiles replied, and his excitement was as evident in his voice as in the wide grin splitting his face. "I mean, I'm going to have a ton more questions, so that'll be perfect."

Taking the file back from Derek, Erica pulled out a notecard that she'd apparently prepared ahead of time and slid it across the table.

"Here's mine and Derek's number, our email addresses, and directions to the house," she explained, pushing Derek out of the booth and getting to her feet to shake Stiles' hand. "We'll see you at two!"

"Absolutely, I'll be there! Thanks again Erica, it was nice meeting you." Shooting Derek a smile, he aimed a pair of finger guns his way. "Later Deputy Derek!" he grinned, clicking his tongue, and then he was gone, pushing out the door of the coffee shop and climbing into a heavy blue jeep before roaring off down the street.

Derek exhaled for what felt like the first time in hours, suddenly drained outside of the oddly-electrifying presence of the other man. He was… _alert_, and intelligent, and unafraid. Honest. And he seemed to have a good heart. More than that, his wolf was attracted to the boy, the scent of him and the way he flushed.

It made his stomach turn.

"So that's a Stiles," Erica said at his side, the both of them still staring out the window after the boy's exit. "I like him.

Derek wasn't so sure.


	5. Challenge

Whelp.

He'd said it before, and he was going to say it again.

Why. His. Life.

When he'd headed for his interview that morning at the little corner cafe, the last person he'd expected to be waiting for him was the dark and hunky Deputy Derek. He'd almost dropped his coffee all over his shoes when he'd turned at the sound of his name and practically crashed into the man. Heat had flooded through his body all the way down to his toes, and he'd had to bite back a hum of delighted interest before his brain had caught up with the excitement spiking in his blood. An awkward beat of silence had killed the sparkler that had been lit in his belly, that and the fact that he'd dragged his eyes away from Derek's long enough to notice the beautiful, curly-haired blonde tucked in close to Derek's side, her elbow linked with his.

He was ashamed to think of the relief he'd felt when the two had pulled apart with casual ease and Erica had introduced herself as a family friend. Moving forward on the assumption that it was her and her husband's children he was interviewing as a sitter for, he'd followed them to a booth in the back of the café with significantly more nervousness than he'd felt getting dressed that morning. It wasn't that she'd called in a cop friend to vet the new nanny – he had plenty of practice charming cops and his references were sparkling. No, it was the fact that she'd brought _this_ cop. His physical attraction to the man aside, they hadn't really gotten off on the right foot, and he didn't want any misunderstandings between them to taint Erica's opinion of his suitability to the job.

To his immense relief, the interview had started off pretty basically, and he'd both admired and enjoyed the straightforward, almost aggressive way that Erica had driven right in. A smile had softened the killing edge of her questions, enough that Stiles was able to laugh and ease off his nerves just enough to focus on firing right back with a professional yet easy-going attitude instead of just making googoo eyes at the lump of broody stone sitting next to her. That hadn't lasted long though; the heavy, silent scrutiny had quickly become so uncomfortable for Stiles that he had offered to leave, despite truly wanting a real shot at getting the job. Caught in a staring contest, he hadn't really heard Erica's plea for him to stay; it was the challenge Derek put to him that had him sinking back into the booth with a grin and just a little bit of cockiness. There were few things as difficult as a challenge for Stiles to resist, and the gorgeous sapphire blue Derek had flashed him was like the toss of a gauntlet, a red cape in front of a fighting bull.

Tapping the steering wheel in time to the beat of The Arcade Fire, Stiles bit his lip and considered what he thought to be the most important points of his interview; namely that the triplets in question were Derek's. He seemed… touchily possessive of that fact, and Stiles didn't necessarily blame him. There was definitely dark water there, and though he'd made it abundantly clear that he wasn't interested in discussing his custody arrangement, it was a conversation that they were going to have to have. Mom in prison, no visitation, a _restraining order_… and unless he missed his guess a hell of a lot of anger.

Stiles himself had a long history of carelessly waltzing his way into the middle of a dangerous situation, true, but this time it wasn't only his hide he had to worry about. This time there were going to be three little werewolves relying on him, and to a similar extent, their dad.

And man, if they looked _anything_ like their dad, Stiles was going to be completely screwed. He was already a sucker for a pair of puppy-dog eyes, a fact he was well aware of thanks to Scott and Isaac. Throw in Derek's thick, dark hair and sharp bone structure and multiply it by three? Those kids would be getting away with murder, because Stiles would be putty in their hands.

Pulling onto Main Street, he hunted up a parking spot that would fit the jeep and killed the engine, leaping down to the curb and heading across the sidewalk to the local 'everything-you-need-and-more' store. Even if half his attention was still stuck on the deep blue of Derek's wolf's eyes, or the way his black deputy's uniform clung to his shoulders in all the right ways, the other half was fully engaged, totally non-distracted.

Yeah right.

He was _so_ totally distracted.

Having learned that Derek was a werewolf, he wouldn't have necessarily been bothered if the guy knew Stiles had a jones for him – heck, the way he saw it, that was one hell of a time saver. But now Derek was going to be his boss, he was going to be taking care of the guy's kids… it would just be weird. He was going to have to keep a serious chain on his libido because he _never_ wanted to have to explain to the triplets why he started to smell funny whenever daddy was around. Just the _thought_ of that conversation had his cheeks flaring and his eyes sticking themselves to the floor in embarrassment. No thank you.

And anyway, Derek was apparently into chicks. Maybe not exclusively, but with Stiles' luck he would turn out to be straight up hetero and none too impressed by any flirtation he was weak-willed enough to let slip over the summer.

Of course, that was probably presumptuous in either case, thinking he'd gotten the job. Heck, he might even be jinxing himself. But the Boy Scouts got one thing right – he'd rather be prepared than not.

Locating the crafts aisle, Stiles was quick to find a pocket-sized notebook with a heavy cover and a package of plastic tabs. Over-organization was a tool he'd learned to use his first year of college, and color-coordination had become an exceptionally good friend. Assigning a color to each kid would help him keep favorite foods and movies straight, help him remember who had allergies and who needed a song instead of a story to get to sleep.

He could only pray that the kids weren't identical.

_He _didn't _have_ a super-sniffer to help him tell them apart.

Still, that gave him an idea.

Poking around the aisle some more, he located the stickers over by the scrapbooking kits, and hey, there were superhero ones! Jackpot! Stiles executed a little fist pump before snapping those up, and if he grabbed a set for himself too that was his business. Judge him all you like, but if he could buy a little good will with presents while at the same time gifting the kids with something that would help him to tell them apart, it was a total win-win.

What else, what else?

Stiles tapped his notebook against his thigh with a barely contained excitement as he moseyed through the aisles, browsing and waiting for inspiration to strike. He considered crayons and coloring books, really had to hold himself back from splurging on a set of three plastic, moldable dinosaurs that were quite possibly the coolest toys he'd seen in a long time. He didn't have a problem shelling out a little bit of cash, but he had no idea what kind of toys the boys already had, what kind of toys they liked or weren't allowed to play with. He wasn't sure if five year olds still chewed on bits and pieces, but he figured werewolf kids probably chewed a little more than normal. More research for later then. Plus, Erica had promised she'd give him a ton of tips when he came for a late lunch the next day to meet the kids.

Heading towards the grocery section, Stiles allowed himself a grin. He was actually really looking forward to meeting the boys tomorrow, maybe even more so than getting to know Derek a little bit better. He hadn't lied; he loved kids and he loved working with them, probably because he could relate to them so well. He was still kind of an awkward, gangly kid himself most of the time, and he definitely knew how to play that to his advantage. He knew he was going to have to do the question and answer thing tomorrow and that he was probably going to push some buttons and quite possibly stick his foot in his mouth, but even that couldn't dampen his spirits. He was excited to meet this family and learn some more about them, to see their home and share a meal with them.

Speaking of food…

For a small town, Beacon Hills still did pretty well as far as getting good produce in was concerned, and Stiles had just zeroed in on fresh blackberries, fat and juicy and ripe. He may not be hosting, but his mother had always told him that you never went to dinner empty-handed, and she'd passed on a deep love of cooking to her son along with a folder full of family recipes, one of which happened to be a blackberry crumble. It was pretty safe as far as allergies went, low in sugar and of course full of fruit, so it seemed like the perfect option. Selecting two cartons of the dark, glossy berries, he tucked them under his arm and headed for a few more staples that he knew they were running low back at home.

He was headed for the registers when he got the zap of inspiration he'd been waiting for.

He'd decided to cut through menswear in order to avoid old Ms. Planchett, who he'd spied at the end of an aisle lecturing an employee about the way the spaghetti-o cans were stacked, and he was glad he did because this was a good idea. Clever, if he did say so himself, and it could very well be his saving grace in the coming weeks. Pretty simple though, and easy to execute, a pack of three cotton t-shirts, solid grey with a shallow v-neck. He had to guess the size, but he's ogled Derek's chest enough in the last couple days that he was fairly confident he'd gotten it right. It wouldn't really matter anyway; Stiles wasn't looking for him to get up on the catwalk and model the damn things.

If that was what he was going for, he'd have grabbed the Batman briefs…

'_Stop_,' he told himself, rolling his eyes.

Stiles wasn't surprised that his brain kept coming back around to crushing on Deputy Derek. He had a terrible history of going in for torture, case in point one Lydia Martin. He had a hard time letting go of what he couldn't have, didn't know when to quit.

Well, that wasn't right.

He definitely knew when to quit.

He just… didn't.

What was it that Alice had said? 'I give myself very good advice, but I very seldom follow it?'

Yeah. That sounded about right.

At least he wasn't as clueless as Alice. He knew what his problem was.

He loved a challenge.

Couldn't walk away from it.

Lydia had been a challenge until she wasn't anymore, and then she'd become a dear friend. Now Derek was presenting in the same way - pushing, testing him with a dare. More than that, Stiles was… terribly attracted to him and knew he couldn't have him. That was going to nip at him constantly – he just knew it.

Handing over the last of his cash, Stiles grabbed his purchases and headed back outside to the jeep, cranking the engine and heading for home. He was already thinking up a list of Google search words to start his research – he wanted to be well-prepared going into lunch tomorrow. He needed to get a handle on what being five meant so that he could write up a list of questions that would help him translate what being a five year old _werewolf _meant. Get himself nice and organized, start dinner, maybe nap…

Stifling a yawn, Stiles found himself grinning widely as he cranked the radio. He'd gotten up way too early and all the emotional self-scolding had exhausted him, but he hadn't felt this good in a long time; eager, excited, a little nervous but in a good way…

Yeah.

This was gonna be awesome.


	6. Glare

"You're cleaning," Erica said with significant surprise when she stepped into Derek's house the next afternoon. "Oh my God, you're _cleaning_!"

"It's not the second coming Erica," Derek snarled under his breath, giving the kitchen counters one last vicious swipe before wringing the rag out with a nasty twist and dropping it over the lip of the sink to dry. "Christ."

"This from the man who tricks his kids into collecting the dirty laundry every weekend," the blonde smirked, taking a seat at the island bar as she watched him turn toward the little closet in the corner. "And don't think Charlotte didn't tell me about how you bribed her into… Wait, why do I smell lemon?"

Derek just glared at her over the top of the mop bucket, tossing the seldom-used bottle of pine sol back into the cabinet before starting in the far corner between the counters and backing his way towards the open dining room.

"You can tell Charlie she owes me three dollars," he grumbled as he watched the mop swish back and forth over the linoleum. "Her fee got doubled for silence."

"She's seven Derek, what did you expect?"

Glancing up when she fell eerily silent, Derek caught the glint in Erica's eye and wished he'd kept his own on the floor.

"You _like_ this guy!" She accused with relish.

"No I don't."

It was an out of hand denial, one he didn't think about too much, and as such it passed the muster of werewolf lie detection, but he could tell from the blatantly disapproving look on her face that she didn't believe him.

"Please," she scoffed, flicking a curl back over her shoulder. "You don't _clean_ Derek. And your house smells like…" Here she paused, closed her eyes and breathed in long and slow and steady. "Well, like three five year olds and their bachelor dad don't live in it."

"And that's a bad thing?" he asked, lifting the bucket of dirty water and pouring it carefully down the drain. "Should I have left socks and toys and dirty dishes all over the place instead, scared the kid off?" Shoving the mop into the closet with more anger than was warranted, he turned to brace his hands against the edge of the counter, looking her hard in the eye. "You were right when you said he was our last chance," he said firmly. "I can't put you out any more than I already have."

"Don't do that," she warned, suddenly all fierce insistence as her eyes flashing gold and she pointed one long, ruby-painted fingernail in his direction. "Don't you do that. We talked about this."

Huffing a sigh, Derek looked away. She was right and he knew it, but it was still hard. He was living on a tight wire, always in a state of hyperawareness, rethinking every decision, certain that his best wasn't enough and it was exhausting.

"You aren't doing anything wrong Derek," Erica insisted quietly, and he wasn't surprised that she'd practically read his mind. "It's ok for you to feel this way, to be nervous. It's normal. You love the boys, and need this to feel right. Feel safe. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Maybe not," he murmured. "But I need to get over it. I can't do this by myself…"

"And you don't have to," Erica asserted, getting to her feet and rounding the counter so that she could run her hand down his arm and squeeze his wrist reassuringly. "Boyd and I are more than happy to do anything we can for you and the boys. I know it's hard for you… asking for help, but…"

A low whine escaped her throat and she pressed her forehead to his shoulder, unable to express with words what she wanted to say, but Derek heard her loud and clear. A purr-like rumble rolled out of his chest as he turned towards her, halfway drew her in to his side by curling one hand around the back of her neck in a gesture of comfort. He was no Alpha, but Beacon Hills had been without for a long time and he was the closest thing to it that any of the random scattering of wolves had. Having held such a high position in his mother's pack, grown up inside a tightly-knit family of wolves, he knew the importance of keeping others close. A wolf's strength _was_ its pack, and he needed strength now.

"Don't worry about me," he mumbled into Erica's hair. "I'm all right Erica. I promise. I can't thank you and Boyd enough for what you've done for us the last few months, but if you can just help get me through this…"

Erica's laugh tinkled like bells and he felt the belt around his heart loosen as she pulled away and slapped him playfully on the shoulder.

"It's gonna be fine," she promised. "Just… try not to glare so much this time ok?"

"I don't glare," he muttered under his breath, but he knew from the smirk that this time Erica had heard the uptick in his heartbeat.

He definitely glared.

"Besides, it's more important for the boys to like him than me," he continued, watching Erica dive into the refrigerator after the box of sandwiches she'd advised him to pick up that morning. The position only muffled her derisive snort so much.

"Where are the boys?" she asked as she emerged. "Upstairs?"

"Outside," he replied, his eyes moving automatically to the French doors that opened out onto the small patio and the sprawling expanse of green lawn ringed by the Preserve. They gave him a clean, clear view of the backyard but he didn't need it to know that all three of the boys were playing in the sandbox he'd built for them beneath a large, spreading Canyon Live Oak. His heightened senses were perfectly attuned to each of them, the individual cadence of their voices and their heartbeats, the scent of them and their emotions, that last, unidentifiable _feeling _that told him when something wasn't quite right…

He'd sent them out to play about five minutes before Erica had arrived, desperate to get them out from underfoot as he dashed around gathering up the scattered bits and pieces that somehow accumulated no matter how hard he tried to keep things organized. Regardless of the defense he'd thrown to the blonde beta, it was damned hard keeping a clean house when he had three little wolves running around. Harder still, when they sensed that something was up, squinted at him with suspicious faces and dogged his steps when he'd told them that company was coming later that day, someone new that he wanted them to meet. As necessary as it was for Derek, his _wolf_ to accept Stiles, to trust him, it was just as vital that the boys accept him too.

Scrubbing his hands down over his face, Derek grumbled with frustration.

It wasn't the first time that he was hit with the desire to know Stiles better.

As far as he was concerned, it was a desire that came out of left field, simple curiosity directed at the strange, gangly boy with the pale skin and whiskey-colored eyes. The boy he'd first seen falling out of a rusty blue jeep, and then again heading for his boss's office, soaked in a clean, musky sweat that was all male and made his wolf want to snuffle at the curve of his neck, even as his job was threatened by his own stupidity. It was maddening, especially when his hackles were still up, his teeth still bared in warning at the stranger stepping into his den. The boys' senses weren't even close to fully-developed, but calling Stiles a friend in an attempt to ease his way would be too big a lie to hide, even from them.

"Stop thinking," Erica commanded flatly, her eyes on her hands as she worked on putting together the little lunch they'd soon be having. "You glare when you think."

Derek frowned, directing said glare in her direction before glancing at the clock.

Shit.

Ten minutes to two.

Oh _god_, what was he going to do with ten minutes? He'd drive himself crazy sitting here thinking. And _glaring_.

"Go outside Derek," Erica said with an annoyed sort of pity as he drummed his fingers anxiously against the countertop. "It won't do any good for you to be a twitchy mess when he gets here. Take the boys for a quick run, work it off. I can answer the door."

"What would I do without you?" he breathed in relief, already up from the stool and on his way to the door.

Erica's happy chuckle followed him out.

**XXX**

"You can do this, you can do this, you can do this!" Stiles chanted, quickly and quietly under his breath.

He wasn't scared.

He wasn't.

But he _was_ excited, anxious, determined not to mess this up.

Unfortunately, Stiles knew himself well, and the chances of that happening weren't great. He was fully prepared to put his foot in his mouth, make some serious goof ups, because he only trusted Scott and the internet so far. His knowledge of wolf rules was limited to what he knew of his friends and what he could find on the computer, but Derek came from a large, well-established pack, and Stiles imagined that his expectations of behavior would be very different from Scott or Isaac's.

Heck, when he went to Scottie's the beta greeted him by bounding down the hall towards the doorway with all the exuberance of a puppy, leaping on him and grabbing him round the neck to rub their cheeks together.

He couldn't see Derek doing that.

He was betting more on the glare-of-death than a welcoming party.

Jumping down from his jeep he crossed to the passenger side, grabbing his backpack off the front seat and shrugging into it before carefully lifting the travel dish he'd wrapped in a fluffy bath towel to keep warm on the drive over. Slamming the door, he turned to face the house, a newly built two-story tucked neatly into trees along the far side of the Preserve. It was nicely painted with a bright red door and a little porch along the front, small pots of yellow flowers at either end that Stiles would name as house-warming gifts if he had to, but all the same the little house still seemed to loom above him, just a little bit shadowed and doom-holding.

Stiles huffed, shook his head at his own musings.

He wasn't scared.

Not of a bunch of little werewolves, and definitely not of the intimidatingly gorgeous Deputy Derek.

Gathering his confidence he strode up the steps of the little porch and used his elbow to hit the buzzer to the left of the door, frowning when his eyes found the peep hole that was actually a cleverly disguised security camera. Beacon Hills didn't run to that type of thing and he had to wonder at the reasoning behind it. A cop lived here, a werewolf cop at that, so the extra measure was something that he took note of.

Snapping back to attention when he heard footsteps on the other side of the door, Stiles swallowed, a tingle rolling down over the back of his neck and shoulders.

He was about to walk into a strange wolf's den, and given the way Derek had glared and flashed his eyes the morning before in the coffee shop, he wasn't sure that he was entirely welcome.

Rocked with the sudden urge to run, Stiles bit his lower lip and almost turned, but then the door was being pulled open and Erica was there, all bouncy blonde curls and a wide, almost suspicious smile.

"Hi Stiles!" she smiled, pushing the door wide and gesturing him inside. "Come on in!"

"Um, thanks," he grinned back nervously, shuffling sideways past her as she closed the door behind him. "I wasn't sure…"

"If I'd be here?" she asked, leading him down the short entryway past a large family room. "Admit it, you were happy to see me on the other side of that door."

Stiles made a hesitant sort of sound, unsure of how to respond, but Erica just laughed.

"Promised I'd be here to help, didn't I?" she tossed over her shoulder with a smile. "Derek would be lost without me anyways."

"I just…" Stiles began, but then his feet stopped moving and his eyes went wide as saucers. "Holy KitchenAid!"

"Hmm, disgusting, isn't it?" Erica hummed, her own eyes flitting around the airy, open kitchen, separated from the dining area by a long, slender island bar. "He doesn't even cook."

"Don't blaspheme," Stiles answered in a reprimanding tone, having finally collected his jaw from the floor. "It's a live-in nanny I'm applying for, wasn't it?"

This got a full, happy laugh out of the werewolf. "You'd move in to a house full of five year old werewolves for a kitchen?" she asked, a smile still in her voice. "You're insane."

"Oh, I don't know," Stiles muttered distractedly, still looking around. "Seems like it would have its perks."

"Is that right?"

Her tone had Stiles jerking back to attention, abruptly aware of what he'd just said, and he fought to keep himself from blushing like a twelve-year-old. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he avoided Erica's piercing gaze and lifted the dish he was clutching like it could shield him from her intense interest.

"Oven?" he asked, heading around the island.

"All yours," she replied, following close behind him and leaning over his shoulder, uncomfortably close as he turned on the pilot light and tucked the dish inside to stay warm. "What is that, it smells _incredible_! I didn't want to creep you out but wow…"

Leaning in close, Erica inhaled a huge lungful of air from the vicinity of his neck, making Stiles jump.

"It's um, blackberry, it's blackberry cobbler," he yipped, swaying a little bit away from her, trying to make it look natural and failing spectacularly.

"You made that?"

"Yeah, I told you, I cook a little…"

"Nu-uh," Erica denied, "No way are you passing _that_ off as a casual hobby. I can smell it on your skin. Kinda makes me wanna…"

"Dessert after veggies!" Stiles yelped, darting away from the werewolf who was licking her lips, a ring of gold around her pupils. There was a wicked, flirtatious sort of edge to her but he was getting the feeling that this was just how Erica was, playful in her own way, and while he wasn't entirely at ease with her behavior, he supposed he could adapt.

She _had _promised to help.

"Fine," she huffed, crossing her arms and sticking her lower lip out in a pout. "But just so we're clear, I think you're a tease, Stiles Stilinski!"

Stiles spluttered, his cheeks flaring warmly as he looked down, automatically rethinking the worn, dove-grey jeans and black t-shirt he'd layered with a red, black, and grey checked flannel, the sleeves of his red zip-up hoodie pushed to his elbows. Erica rolled her eyes, came round the island to his side and grabbed him by the shoulders, steering him towards a pair of open French doors.

"Come on," she grumbled good-naturedly, "The boys are outside with Derek."

Grabbing on to his composure as his heartbeat fired up, Stiles stepped out onto the flagstone patio edged on either side by curving, cushioned benches, reaching up to shield his eyes from the afternoon sun. The house had evidently been built in a natural clearing, the heavy wood of the Preserve ringing a wide, grassy yard, a large, spreading oak off to one side shading a little swing set and sandbox. All of this was a fleeting observation because a few yards off in the middle of the lawn Derek was on his hands and knees, wrestling with three fuzzy-cheeked little boys who bounced and snarled and _swarmed _all over him.

Stiles felt a smile threaten to crack his jaw, felt his tension melt away as he slowly sank down on the edge of the patio, resting his elbows on his knees as he watched. He could feel Erica standing behind him and wondered if he should've gone down to introduce himself but he was content at the moment just to watch as Derek roughhoused with his kids, teeth flashing in a grin as he sat back on his heels, hanging one little boy upside down from each arm as the third clung to his back. He was smiling, really smiling, and the two kids he'd turned over were shrieking with giggles, and Stiles couldn't help but break into a laugh of his own.

Three little heads immediately turned in his direction but it was Derek's flashing blue gaze that snapped over to his like the crack of a bull-whip, eyebrows dropping over the increasingly familiar sapphire death-glare.

Oh crap.

What had he done wrong?


	7. Smells Good!

Romp.

Wrestle.

Roughhouse.

Call it whatever you want, it was one of the greatest and brightest things in Derek's life - crowding together with pack, running roughshod over each other, bumping shoulders and nipping at flanks, fur on fur trading scent until you weren't just you anymore, you were family. Up in Oregon with his mother's pack, as a pup and later as a teenager lanky with youth, it had been the very best of times to shift with brothers and sisters and cousins on every side, to run through the forest with abandon, hunting and howling together until the moon had fallen again and the sun was pushing up above the treetops. It was all bonding and instinct and family and very near to his heart, and it still was.

Three little boys, three tiny werewolf pups.

It was their favorite game too, and he indulged them as often as he could.

Having been firmly ordered from the house by Erica, Derek had gone immediately for the sandbox where the boys were playing and caught all three of them up, flashing his eyes in an invitation to come and play. They immediately leapt to the challenge, blinking bright golden eyes back at him and letting their shift shiver over their bodies, little gapped teeth sharpening in their mouths and chubby cheeks growing fuzzy with downy sideburns. They darted through the trees around the edge of the yard for a bit, playing tag with each other as they yipped and squealed, but he kept them in close to the house, unwilling to wander too deep into the Preserve even though his own muscles were tingling with pent up energy that he desperately wanted to run off.

Herding them back into the center of the wide, green lawn, he dropped to his hands and knees and growled playfully, prouder than words when all three of the boys showed their teeth and growled right back. It was all pretend really but it was good to see them challenge him, even if they had no realistic hope of triumph. Only just turned five, their instincts were barely starting to develop, and yet they still knew when to submit, when they needed to heed a warning and when it was ok for them to be frisky and snarly and forward. It gave him hope for the future, for the dreaded teenage years, and for now it made him feel… safe.

Derek made a few chuffing sounds deep in his throat and all three of the boys came charging at him, growling like puppies and showing him their teeth as they piled on top of him, and for a few minutes he just buffeted them gently back and forth, letting them roll him over and over in the grass until he reached out and began to tickle whichever belly he could reach, and then they were shrieking and giggling and turning tail, darting away in three different directions. Feeling his wolf surge forward in his chest, he set his sights on one of the triplets and gave chase, scooping the little boy up with a roar voiced in a human tone. The results were immediate, drawing the other two back like filings to a magnet as they came running to their brother's aid.

Little hands tugged on his belt and the pockets of his jeans as they pulled at him, bringing him down to his knees again so that they could climb him like a jungle-gym, wrestle and swarm as he grabbed first for one and then another, never quite able to win out against all three small, squirming bodies. As soon as he got hold of two the third was pinching at his sides or nipping at his sleeves, leaving tiny holes in his cotton t-shirt. Keeping up a steady stream of gentle growls and lovingly gruff play-words, he tumbled them around and rolled them back and forth, sitting back on his heels to throw one pup each over his shoulders, smiling widely when they squealed and laughed at the thrill of being tipped upside-down. He darted a quick glance around the yard having temporarily lost sight of his last little charge, but he was braced and ready for a sneak attack when the tiny werewolf leapt onto his shoulders and slurped a wet doggy lick up the side of his neck behind his ear, the only ticklish spot he had.

Ready, but not for the smooth, deep laugh that chimed clearly and cheerfully from the direction of the porch.

Derek felt all three of his boys go stiff as they turned toward the sound, felt his eyes flash as his instincts drove in hard to the front of his mind, demanding he stand and protect, find the one intruding into his territory and this moment of happy, easy play and fight but he reigned it in, biting down hard on his control. To his surprise, that feeling drained away almost immediately when his gaze landed on the young man in the red hoodie sitting on the steps of his porch. He hadn't heard Stiles' jeep in the drive, hadn't heard Erica let him through to the backyard, but that didn't worry him nearly as much as the way his wolf instantly settled, calm a gentle weight low in his belly. Frowning, he lowered the boys slowly to the ground and scented the air, cocking his head when he caught the sweet, juicy smell of fat, ripe blackberries. It was strong and abrupt, made his mouth water and his fangs prickle, and for the space of a heartbeat he saw himself lapping at a smooth expanse of pale skin stained dark with the fragrant crush of the rich fruit before the image sank like a stone into the dark place inside his psyche where he pushed all the things he didn't want to deal with.

He didn't like this kid, _couldn't_ like him.

He didn't even _know_ him.

And he supposed that was the point of this, so…

All three boys were crowded around him, each with a hand reached back to clutch at his shirt even as they strained forward, noses quivering as their curiosity warred with their caution. He was quick to place a light, reassuring touch on the backs of their necks, his own tension dissipating when he saw their little shoulders drop with relief, fuzzy sideburns retreating and ears rounding out as they reeled in their wolves.

"Come on," he said, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen over the yard as he climbed to his feet. "I want you guys to meet someone, ok?" A trio of affirmative little noises met his request, and a hand found each of his while a third hung on to his jeans as they crossed the yard.

Derek was surprised when Stiles made no move to get to his feet, instead just shifting to lower his knees and sit cross-legged in the grass at the bottom of the steps, his posture loose and open. It was a smart move, one that kept him on the kids' level, kept him small and non-threatening, and it was… impressive. Erica caught the look of surprise on his face and sent a smirk in his direction before disappearing back into the house, and he had to swallow down a whine and grit his teeth to keep from begging her not to go. Gathering his composure, he glanced down to find Stiles smiling up at him cautiously, tentatively, but he couldn't seem to force a smile back, so instead he just lowered himself slowly to the ground across from him, mimicking his pose as all three of the boys tried to pile into his lap.

"This is Stiles," he explained while they jostled for position, stroking their spines in an attempt to calm them, to ease away the last of the anxiety that had them twisting and kicking at his legs. Eventually they stilled and he felt it safe to move on with the introductions. Placing a hand on top of each of their heads in turn, he watches Stiles carefully as he named them off.

"This is Benjamin, Angus, and Sebastian."

**XXX**

Aww crap, Stiles was totally screwed.

They were adorable.

Seriously freakin' adorable.

And identical. Like, _identical _identical - three perfect copies with chubby little faces and dark, dark tawny hair, and wide hazel eyes that looked remarkably like Derek's. For now he knew which was which but as soon as they shuffled he was going to be completely lost.

"Hi," he smiled, trying to inject all of his excitement and delight at meeting them into his voice while at the same time tamping down the nerves and confusion that had hit him when Derek couldn't deign him with a proper hello or any sign of welcome. Shoot, he would have settled for neutral tolerance if he was honest. He got it, he did – he was intruding on a werewolf's territory, the guy didn't know him, he was going to have to trust Stiles with his kids, yada yada yada, but _dang_!

The man might be gorgeous but he was _way_ too broody, and Stiles didn't know _him_ well enough to know if the eyebrows of doom were just his natural resting expression or if he only brought them out for special occasions.

"My name's Stiles," he repeated, mostly in an effort to shake himself back to the situation at hand. Still, he was well aware that the boys hadn't been paying that much attention when Derek had introduced him. "It's good to meet you guys - I was really excited to come have lunch with you today!"

Two of the little wolves just blinked at him owlishly, still clutching at Derek's shirt, both silent while one of them stuffed his fingers in his mouth, but the third had let go and was leaning forward, wrinkling his nose and sniffing the air as he tilted his head to one side like a puppy. "Your name's funny," he frowned.

Taken by surprise, Stiles momentarily froze, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline, but then the tips of Derek's ears were going pink and the kid just looked so damned serious that he was barking out a laugh and grinning wide enough to hurt his cheeks.

"_Angus_," Derek admonished in a warning tone, giving the little boy a jiggle by bouncing the knee he was perched on.

"That's ok," Stiles cut in, smiling at the little wolves. "My dad calls me Stiles 'cause my first name is even funnier."

Three pairs of eyes lit up with a child's curiosity, but once again it was Angus who braved the question. "What is it?"

"It's a secret," Stiles mock-whispered. "Such a big secret, nobody remembers what it is anymore."

"Do _you _'member?" Benjamin asked around his mouthful of fingers.

At least, he thought it was Benjamin.

"I do remember," he acknowledged seriously, "But it's really really hard to say. I even get it wrong most of the time."

This last bit was directed at Derek with a grin, but he just stayed his silent broody self, only giving him a half of an eyebrow-quirk.

"It's ok though," he continued, turning back to the kids and ignoring his internal desire to declare war on the werewolf, hit with the sudden, strong determination to make him show _some _kind of positive emotion. "It was my great great great grandpa's name, and my mom picked it out for me, so it's pretty special."

"Aunt Cora picked my name."

The statement was so quiet, so shy that Stiles almost missed it, Sebastian huddled in close to Derek's chest halfway beneath his arm, his face turned in to his father and his eyes downcast. It almost broke his heart; the little guy seemed inordinately anxious, his fingers fisted in the cotton of his Dad's t-shirt, and Derek was frowning down at the top of his head with some serious concern in his eyes.

"That's pretty special too then huh?" he asked quietly, and it must have been kind of the right thing to say because boy raised his eyes for just a minute and seemed to sag inward, his small body unable to maintain its tension any longer. His relief appeared to be contagious too, because Angus and Benjamin both smiled and reached out to pat their brother, pressing in close on Derek's lap so that they rubbed shoulders, bunched up in the tactile comfort Stiles was so used to seeing in his wolfy friends. Some of the steel even went out of dad's spine when the kid finally released his death grip, squishing around so that he was better facing Stiles, though he still leaned back into the protective circle of his family.

The half-awkward minute of silence that fell after that was broken when Erica stuck her head out the open French doors and called them in for lunch. Stiles held himself back, looking to Derek to move first. Rolling to his knees, he dumped the boys off gently into the grass before rising smoothly to is feet, a movement Stiles tried and failed to emulate as neatly.

"I hope you guys are hungry," he said, flashing Derek another grin as they headed toward the house before whispering conspiratorially. "I brought dessert!"

"Smells good," Angus smiled brightly, darting up close to his side for a sniff before he fell back and away from him again.

"Wow, you can smell it from here?" Stiles asked brightly, genuinely impressed. Half the time Scott couldn't even tell what a given smell was. "That's awesome!"

"It's blackberries," Benjamin added, clearly not to be outdone and excited by both the prospect of the dessert and his own chance to impress the new guy.

"That's so cool!" Stiles grinned. "I put it in the oven, you guys are good!"

"It's you."

Stiles jumped, almost tripping over the door jamb as they stepped back into the cool of the house and turning towards the Kitchen of the Gods. He hadn't said anything in so long, he had almost forgotten that Derek actually did use words.

"What?" he asked dumbly.

"It's you," the wolf repeated, giving Sebastian a little push down the hallway where the other two boys had disappeared to the sound of running water. "They can smell it on you, not in the oven."

"Oh." Stiles rubbed the back of his neck, felt his face flush. "Yeah, Erica said as much, earlier…"

That wasn't all she'd said either…

Clearing his throat, he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and followed Derek back around the long, slender dining table that ran down pat of the wide hall parallel to the kitchen island.

"Anyway. I brought a cobbler," he continued. "I figured it was pretty safe. I didn't know if the kids had allergies or if you were a sugar daddy or not…"

"A _what_?"

Stiles did an internal fist pump and bit back a grin at the way Derek jumped and turned back to glare at him.

"A sugar daddy," he reiterated, and just beyond Derek's shoulder he saw Erica's head jerk up and a wicked grin curl over her mouth. "You know, whether or not you're one of those terrible parents who don't let their kids have any sugar at all, tell them that yogurt is the same thing as pudding…"

"People don't do that."

"You'd be surprised dude."

"I'm not a monster," Derek growled, grabbing two plates of sandwiches, carrot sticks, and yellow cheese, all cut into bite-sized pieces from the counter. "A little sugar isn't going to kill them. And don't call me dude!"

Too busy watching Derek retreat over to the dining table with a satisfied smirk, Stiles jumped when Erica appeared at his side and offered him a gentle hip check, two more plates balanced carefully on her hands. "Don't worry," she smiled, and he didn't like the way her eyes flashed gold at him. "The boys like dessert as much as any other five-year old, but Derek's the one with the secret sweet tooth. He'll deny it till he drowns in those gross protein shakes he chugs, but if you wanted to butter him up you're off to a good start."

Unable to think of a proper response, Stiles just stood there stupidly until Erica snapped a command back over her shoulder.

"Grab those other two plates Stilinski! Tip number one – never keep a werewolf waiting on lunch!"


	8. Smacznego!

Erica wasn't kidding when she warned him about late lunches.

After placing one of the two remaining plates down in front of Derek and saving the last for himself, Stiles learned just how important it was to take Tip Number 1 to heart, making a mental note until he could scribble it down in his color-coded notebook. All three boys ate voraciously, tucking in to what was apparently PB and J with relish, smearing goop all over their cheeks. Stiles himself was pleased to recognize roasted turkey clubs from the deli in town, the one that made a house garlic-aioli, and dug in with a wolfish appetite of his own.

Erica was decent enough to fill the gaps with idle chatter about nothing in particular, none of it important, and it gave him the opportunity to watch the kids surreptitiously and organize a few of his thoughts. They were mostly quiet, watching Stiles right back with careful reservation, lined up across the table from him in a little row. Only two of them ever piped up to answer Erica's questions or add their bit to the conversation, and true to his prediction, he had no idea which was which. He guessed that the silent one sitting closest to Derek at the head of the table was Sebastian, but in all reality he couldn't even pretend that he knew.

Derek was watching him as well, he could feel it, his gaze cool all along his side as he judged him, gauged the way the boys reacted to him and Stiles interacted with them in return. And that was ok, he got that - mostly. The guy was obviously pretty picky when it came to babysitters but he didn't doubt for a second that there was something more to it than that. There was picky and then there was picky, and Derek was definitely the latter, reacting to something else, some underlying _thing _that said trust was something not to be dealt out lightly. Outside from that sunny, rough and tumble moment out in the yard with his boys - that protected, unsuspecting moment - the deputy seemed rather closed-off, his emotions wrapped up tight in his chest so that he could look at Stiles and analyze him completely intellectually, completely objectively. He only gentled, only let his gaze soften and a smile tip at the corners of his mouth when he was talking to the boys, telling Benjamin to finish his carrots and reminding Angus firmly not to rock in his chair.

It was... nice to see. Nice to see him relax, just a little bit.

Stiles spent a little time questioning the triplets too, asking them easy questions about their favorite colors and games, careful not to overwhelm them or cause them any anxiety with his prying. He also made sure that he included Sebastian in the conversation (he was almost sure it was Sebastian anyway), gentle with his words and with his tone even though the little boy continued to stay quiet, staring back at him with huge, hazel eyes and letting his brothers answer for him. For their part Benjamin and Angus, began to slowly warm towards him - one brash and loud, the other more still and thoughtful - as their excitement and curiosity got the better of them.

Before he could think better of it he was telling the only non-offensive werewolf joke he knew, the one about the werewolf that swallowed the alarm clock and got the 'tick-ups,' and was rewarded for it with a chorus of grins and giggles. Even Erica was laughing prettily, but Derek just cocked an eyebrow, his mouth quirked in a way that suggested to Stiles he was doing his damnedest not to give in to a smile of his own.

Sourwolf.

The guy needed some serious sweetening up, and Stiles had just the sugar to do it.

Rolling his eyes at all the ridiculous, dorky double-entendres his mind was reeling through, almost too fast for him to even get a laugh out of them, Stiles pushed back from the table and picked up a couple of plates.

"You guys ready for dessert?" he asked, and all three little boys nodded eagerly, eyes lighting up with anticipation.

"I'll help," Erica announced, grabbing the last of the empty plates herself and following Stiles back through to the kitchen, waiting until he'd gotten the serving dish from the oven before going in for the kill. "Well?" she asked, opening a drawer full of scoop spoons for him to choose from while she took down a stack of bowls from a cabinet. "What do you think?"

"Honestly?" Stiles laughed easily, "Telling them apart is gonna be a challenge. I mean, I could guess, but I would have no confidence in doing it whatsoever."

"Don't worry about that," Erica reassured him, watching as he ladled the warm cobbler into bowls. "They may look alike, but they couldn't be more different. It'll take a while but you'll figure them out." She paused for a minute, then amended the statement. "Just be careful. Sometimes they get into a mood and the next thing you know they're trading personalities and dressing all the same… They're clever. If they think you're being unfair to one of them, they rally and you won't be able to tell them apart until you apologize to all three."

"Thanks for the warning," Stiles chuckled. "That's impressive though, for five year olds. Smart, manipulative…"

Erica hummed, looked contemplative. "They are their father's sons…" She murmured quietly, her eyes far away.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Shrugging, still turning that slip of the tongue around in his mind, Stiles started scooping the last of the cobbler into a small Tupperware dish Erica had set out. The next thing he knew she was handing him a Sharpie too, waiting patiently at his side. Cocking an eyebrow, she nodded toward the dish of leftovers before grabbing up an armful of bowls, taking a deep, appreciative sniff before humming delightedly and heading for the dining room. Twirling the marker around his fingers, Stiles contemplated the container, sure that Erica meant for him to do more than just label it.

Eh, why the hell not?

Uncapping the marker, he scrawled a quick message across the lid, finishing it off with a winking smiley face.

_Sweeten up, Sourwolf ;)_

Short, simple, to the point.

Sticking it in the back of the refrigerator for Derek to find later, Stiles grabbed the last two bowls; his and Derek's once again, and if the latter's had an extra scoop inside he was the only one to know. By the time he got back to the table the boys had already dug in, purple stickiness smeared all over their faces as they nommed happily on their spoons, working their dessert with single-minded delight. Grinning at their obvious enjoyment, Stiles waited until he crossed around the head of the table behind Derek's chair to reach down over his shoulder and deposit his bowl in front of him, the minute jolt of his surprise worth missing the look on his face.

"Smacznego!" he hummed in the traditional Polish, taking his own seat. His mother had always said that half the work of feeding someone was wishing them good eating. The rest was easy as long as you put your heart into it.

"Holy shit Stiles!" Erica moaned lasciviously, distracting him with her first bite.

"_Swear jar_!" three little voices chorused immediately, spoons dropping long enough for hands to clap.

"Totally worth it," Erica replied, digging into her jeans pocket and pulling out a dollar to lay on the table top.

"Oh man," Stiles groaned, "You guys have a swear jar?"

"It mostly stays empty unless Aunt Erica comes over," Derek replied, shooting a glare Erica's way.

"Oh don't frown at me," she replied easily as she licked her thumb, clearly not cowed in the least. "Stick that spoon in your mouth, try a smile on for size."

Rolling his eyes he did as she said anyway, and Stiles had to focus on his own bowl so that he didn't stare at the guy's stupidly pretty mouth wrapped around his spoon like a total creep.

"Well shit…"

"_SWEAR_…"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," Derek grumbled good-naturedly, pulling out his own wallet to add a dollar to the pot. Flicking his gaze in Stiles' direction, the tips of his ears pinked just a little. "It's good Stiles."

"You've got a gift kid!" Erica agreed, carrying the moment on just a second further so that Stiles could answer back without any shy awkwardness that would speak to the attraction he felt for the man beside him, attraction he was trying desperately to stamp on with the power of professional conduct.

"Thanks," he smiled, his tone soft. "I'm glad you guys like it. It was my mom's recipe; she's the reason I like to cook so much."

The little boy sitting next to Derek was staring at him with wide, solemn eyes and then he was tugging on his father's sleeve until Derek leaned down close to his side.

"Daddy, he smells sad," the little boy murmured, but he wasn't quite so quiet that Stiles didn't hear.

He saw Derek swallow, saw the uncertainty on his face as he stroked his son's hair and he understood it – they were new to town, they didn't know the Stilinski sob story. His father still wore his wedding ring with a single-minded devotion but didn't like to talk about his late wife, not even with Stiles, so he decided to take pity on the guy and explain himself.

"My mom died when I was little," he explained, addressing all three of the little boys carefully since he wasn't sure how much they understood about this kind of thing. They were just kids after all. "She got sick, and then she went to heaven, so I get sad sometimes when I miss her."

"Our momma got sick too," one said, and from the corners of his vision he saw Derek flinch and Erica's face go pale.

Shit.

He hadn't thought this one through had he?

"She didn't go to heaven, she went to jail!" the third little boy countered, and Stiles could almost hear the silent _dummy_ tacked on to the end of the sentence. Sensing a fight, watching the boy next to Derek start to cower and crumble in on himself, he hurried to fix what he'd fucked up.

"Sometimes there's different kinds of sickness," he tried, and even if it wasn't the perfect thing to say, it seemed to get their attention enough that they stopped focusing on each other. "And it's ok to miss the people we don't have anymore, right?" Two little heads bobbed, the third just watched with silent eyes. "But it's important to be happy with the ones we do have. You guys have your dad, and your brothers, and your Aunt Erica…"

"An' Uncle Boyd?"

"Right," Stiles nodded with a smile. "And your cousins?"

"Charlotte an' Gracie."

"And maybe if it's ok with you guys, I can come back and we can be friends too."

All three looked at him speculatively, cocking their heads like curious little pups, and for the space of a heartbeat dread settled in his stomach as he was sure they were going to tell him in no uncertain terms to take a hike.

"Are you gonna bring more dessert?"

The air came crashing out of Stiles' chest in a loud, light laugh, a smile cracking his jaw wide, and Erica even joined in with a quiet chuckle. At his side he could feel a little bit of the steel go out of Derek's spine and it was calming, reassuring enough that he was able to answer back with a little more certainty than he felt.

"Sure," he replied, "And maybe I can show you guys how to make some stuff too. You can tell me what your favorites are ok?"

"All right, line up little soldiers!" Erica grinned, interrupting eager smiles. "Get over to that sink; you need a serious scrubbin'!"

"Aww."

Stiles chuckled, unsure which of the boys had complained, but all three were frowning and looking terribly put out at the prospect of a wash, so he supposed it didn't matter.

"Just did!" one groaned – Angus, he thought.

"Well you need to do it again," Erica chided. "Look at you three; Stiles will think you were raised by wolves!"

This got a giggle out of two them, and they all darted quick, sly glances in his direction before climbing down from their booster seats and dutifully carrying their bowls into the kitchen, even though Erica had already started threatening them with naptime. Abruptly left alone with Derek, who was sitting terribly still at his side, Stiles felt an electric tingle trip down his spine and he leapt to an apology before he could cut him off.

"Oh my god dude, I am _so _sorry! I didn't mean to…"

"Don't," Derek bit out, and his voice was so cold and flat that Stiles almost swallowed his tongue he shut up so fast. Growling quietly, the deputy raked his fingers through his head and rested his elbows on the edge of the table, hanging his head in his hands. "Just…"

Heaving a sigh that set his broad shoulders rolling, he lifted his head to meet Stiles gaze and tried again.

"You just explained that to them better than I ever could," he rasped, his voice thick and rough. "And you don't even…"

Shaking his head, he pushed back his chair and got to his feet, turning down the hallway.

"Come on," he called over his shoulder. "I need to show you something."

Swallowing hard to force his heart back down into his chest where it belonged, Stiles got to his feet, feeling like a man going to the gallows.

The sight of Derek's empty bowl gave him a hope.

If the wolf had the kind of sweet tooth Erica said he did, maybe he'd let Stiles live…


	9. Deputy or Dad?

Stiles practically whimpered when Derek led him through the living room to a short back hallway. The door he stopped in front of would have been fairly unassuming if it weren't for the complicated-looking lock near the top, bolting it closed against the jamb. A twist and a flip had the door swinging open to reveal a dark, descending stairwell, but when Derek stepped back in an obvious gesture for Stiles to lead the way, his feet nailed themselves to the floor.

"Oh man, please don't kill me," he whined, clasping his hands together in a pleading motion that was half joking, halfway deadly serious. "My dad knows I'm over here; you won't…"

"Shut up Stiles," Derek huffed with a roll of his eyes, reaching past him to flick a switch that flooded the stairwell with clean, yellow light. "It's just a basement."

Not bothering to look and see if he was being followed, the werewolf trotted quickly down the carpeted steps, his fingers trailing lightly along the wooden railing anchored to the wall. Swallowing, Stiles let his eyes trace the lines of the lock at the top of the door before telling himself to pony up and heading down himself. The stairs landed him in a bright, open room with a floor that felt soft under his feet, like it was padded underneath with foam, and in one corner there was a sort of industrialized, kid-sized jungle-gym secured to both the wall and the floor. There wasn't much else – no toys or furniture – and Stiles got the distinct feeling he'd stepped into a rubber-room.

"It's a safe room."

Stiles jumped at the sound of Derek's voice, turning away from the climbing apparatus to face the wolf who had crossed the room and was waiting near another door, this one also locked at the top just like the other.

"For full moons," he continued, "When we can't get out of the house. I get the night of and the night after off work, so you won't need to be here for it, but you need to remember this."

"Why do I feel like this is a warning?" Stiles asked cautiously, eyeing the wolf up and down.

"Because it is. They may be kids, they may be cute, but they're still wolves, and you're a human. We're working on their control, but they're young and they haven't found an anchor yet, and technically my mother is their alpha… chances are good they'll shift on you at some point."

"Ok," Stiles acknowledged, straightening his shoulders in an attempt to show he understood the seriousness of what was being said. "Ok, I can deal with that. I helped Scott find _his_ anchor, so I should be able to talk them through a shift too."

"You should," Derek agreed, nodding even though Stiles could feel a caveat coming. "They're pretty tame, all things considered, but if they ever get out of control, one or all of them, get them down here and shut the door. They only unlock from the side they're locked on in the first place, so just get one of them between you and call me _immediately_."

"Right," Stiles swallowed, a little shakily. "Can do."

Derek frowned, tilted his head in a way that reminded him of the kids doing the same. "Relax," he said finally. "They're not gonna try to _eat_ you. They _know_ humans are… _squishier_ than they are. I just want you to be prepared."

Stiles just nodded. He appreciated the heads-up, he did, and really it was pretty decent of Derek to acknowledge his 147 pounds of pale skin and fragile bone. He didn't have to give him this escape hatch, could have just left him to battle it out with three little mouths full of sharp teeth, but he did it anyways. And apparently there was more, because he was going at the second lock and opening yet another door, stepping into what at first appeared to be a small office but quickly gave up_ that _ghost. The room was dominated by a long, narrow table over which powerful UV lights were hanging, four large pots of big, green plants flowering a bright blue spreading wildly along its length.

"Dude, what the hell?" Stiles muttered, stepping forward to rub a leaf between his thumb and forefinger. "This is wolfsbane!"

"Aconitum," Derek confirmed with his back to Stiles, crouching down to pull open a dented filing cabinet. "Leopard's Bane… Blue Rocket..." Rolling the drawer closed with a bang, he rose to his full height and turned to face Stiles with a manila folder in his hands. "Devil's Helmet."

"No, no, please, continue," Stiles urged in a sarcastic tone, crossing his arms. "It's not like you're growing leafy death in your basement or anything…"

Derek cocked an eyebrow. "It's poisonous to us, yes, and to you too, but like lots of things it's also medicinal. If you burn it, the ash will counteract the effects of the living plant."

"So…" Stiles tried again, turning back to pull a dark petal and twist it between his fingers, "This is, what? First aid?"

"Exactly," he replied. Stepping up to the table, his hands lighted on each pot carefully, one after the other. "These are the four most common strains of wolfsbane in the US," he explained. "It's harder to come by than you'd think. Having my own is… security. The boys all know how to recognize it, to stay the hell away from it, so God forbid you ever have to come down here, but…"

"Better safe than sorry," Stiles concluded. "Smart."

Hooking his foot around the leg of a stool sitting beneath the edge of the table, Derek dragged it out and pushed it toward him.

"Sit," he demanded, and Stiles was curious enough about what was coming to do it without a fuss.

A minute passed while Derek watched him closely, tapping the edge of his file folder against his palm, but Stiles decided to wait, staying still and quiet even as the wolf grew agitated and began to pace. He didn't have much room for it but he was turning on a dime, and his anxiety made Stiles want to scratch. He was just about to break his silence, throw the guy a bone when he spun on Stiles with stormy eyes, his face hard and closed off.

"They like you," he said, and Stiles almost laughed with surprise. It wasn't what he was expecting, but the tone in which the compliment was delivered suggested worse was on its way. "They like you, and I'm out of options. I can't shuffle them off on Erica anymore, and you seem like you might actually…"

Stiles raised his eyebrows, hoping that the look on his face was one of encouragement.

He might actually _what_?

"Never mind," Derek grumbled. "Look, you've got the job if you want it, but I wouldn't ask you to take it without knowing what you're getting yourself into…"

"The security cameras," Stiles said knowingly, and Derek drew back like he was surprised Stiles had noticed at all. "The locks."

"I said I'd tell you and I will," he said grimly, twisting the file in his hands as though he wanted nothing more than to tear it right down the middle. "If that's what you want. But there's… plausible deniability at play here…"

"Plausible... _Jesus_!" Stiles choked. "Did you _kill _somebody? Oh god, did you kill your old babysitter?"

"What?!" Derek barked. "_No_! Christ, what's _wrong_ with you?"

"You're being kinda cryptic here dude, you're not helping!" Stiles yelped, flailing his arms wildly.

"Just… shut up and listen," he ordered. Flipping the folder open, he drew out two sheets of paper and a glossy 8x6 photograph, hesitating for the space of a heartbeat before handing them over.

Stiles looked at them with trepidation, like they might burn them if he accepted, but when he looked up at Derek's face only to see the man's gaze locked on the papers, to see him swallow hard, he reached out and took them into his own hand, if only to save them both the embarrassment of seeing them shake when the wolf's fingers inevitably began to tremble. Turning them round, his gaze quickly scanned the first page, a face sheet of demographics that he recognized from a national prison database. The next was more official, signed and sealed, declaring that Katherine Delacroix wasn't to come within five hundred yards of Derek, the boys, or their place of work or residence.

"So this is mom?" he ventured carefully, turning the photo over to take the measure of the woman who had thrown away three perfect little boys and what he suspected might be a perfect man.

"Biological DNA donor," Derek sneered, and Stiles didn't contradict him. "She's no mom. Never was and never will be."

"Understood." Turning the picture over so that he was no longer looking at the blonde with the cold eyes, he returned the pages and watched Derek place them back into the folder, filing them away again before he leaned back against the metal cabinet with his arms crossed over his chest. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked. "I mean, yesterday…"

"I didn't trust you yesterday," Derek rumbled. "I still don't. But if I'm gonna leave my kids with you I need to start… _trying_. And Kate is dangerous."

"I thought you said she was in prison?" Stiles distractedly before cueing in on the threat behind Derek's words. "Wait, _why_ is she in prison?"

"She got sick. And she went to jail," Derek said, slowly and seriously, mimicking his son's words in a voice that sent chills down Stiles' spine. "And if I have anything to do with it, she's going to stay there. That's the story the boys got, and that's the story you're getting. I don't…" Here he shifted nervously and Stiles was reminded of just how young he really was, only a few years older than Stiles himself. "I don't like talking about her," he continued, all the anger and tightness gone from his voice. Now he just sounded small, and maybe even a little bit broken. "Remembering that part of my life. But…" Here he sighed, letting his arms fall to his sides as his shoulders slumped dejectedly. "The only good that came out of it was those kids. So if understanding will help you keep them safe…"

"I told you," Stiles said, his own throat sore with emotion. "I'm not asking to be a dick. I'm not trying to drag anything up, I just… I want what you want, ok? I know you don't trust me and that's fine, hell that's normal. You don't know me, and I don't know you, so I'm not going to ask you to throw up your guts here."

Derek raised his head, his pale, hazel-colored eyes wounded and cautious.

"You told me about the locks," Stiles continued, reaching out with his words because he didn't think the wolf would accept him reaching out with his hands. "Told me about the cameras. You showed me her picture, and I get that that's big for you."

"I don't…" Derek growled, shifting on his feet as his mouth twisted in a frown. "I don't understand what you're saying to me."

"Thanks, I guess," Stiles shrugged. "For not just leaving me in the dark."

"So you're staying?"

"Sure," he grinned, getting to his feet and clapping the other man on the shoulder now that the mood had lightened. The wolf raised an eyebrow and looked rapidly, almost comically, between Stiles' face and his hand, until he removed it from his person and held them up in surrender. "I'm taking my hand away," he mumbled, looking off to the other side of the room. "Anyway, my dad always did say I had no sense of self-preservation."

"Obviously," the wolf muttered, and Stiles chose judiciously to ignore it, his attention caught by something else on the other side of the room.

"Ooo, what's in the safe?" he asked, crossing over to run his fingers down the heavy matte finish of the khaki-green door. "_Please_ tell me there's a briefcase full of cash in here! Pearls? Gold? Rubies?"

"Really?" Derek asked with a quirked eyebrow, prowling slowly over to Stiles' side and quickly spinning the dial. "Buried treasure?"

"Dude, what else do you keep in a safe?" Stiles grinned.

"Don't call me dude."

Swinging the heavy door open, Stiles was disappointed to find that the only thing inside seemed to be more papers, _stacks_ of them, and at the very bottom a flat wooden box with gold hinges.

"No fun," he pouted, stepping back, but Derek just grinned.

"Probably worth more than your jewels and gold bars though," he answered, reaching out to ruffle the edge of a stack like it was a deck of cards. "Stocks, bonds… insurance policies. There'll be three full college funds in here by the time the boys need them."

"Damn," Stiles whistled. "Not scared I'm gonna lift a few?"

"Not scared I'd come after you if you did?" Derek snorted.

"Touché."

"Besides," he shrugged, "They'd be no good to you anyway. Everything in here's got a name on it."

"Gotcha. What's in the box?"

When Derek paused, Stiles looked away from the safe to find him unnervingly close, only inches away and staring at him intensely with eyes flaring sapphire blue. Taking a careful step back, he decided to play it safe and apologize.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I'm a curious little shit; I shouldn't have…"

Derek shook his head, blinking away the blue before reaching into the safe and gently sliding the box from beneath a sheaf of papers. Carrying it over to the table, he set it down carefully and lifted the lid, turning it in Stiles direction and stepping back. Raising an eyebrow, Stiles stepped forward, relief rushing through him when he looked inside to find a Colt Python lying in a bed of dark blue velvet, six inches of gleaming nickel with a burnished wooden handle. It was a beautiful .357 revolver, rarer than the 9-millimeter Glock that was standard issue down at the station, but easier to make your own munitions for.

"Backup piece?" he asked, resisting the urge to reach out and lift the pistol, to test its weight and try the sights. It was a natural reaction – cop's kid, he'd grown up knowing and respecting guns, learning the responsibility of taking one into his hand. Both he and his father were firm in the belief that when you knew something you understood it, and when you understood it, you could better control it.

"More than that," Derek murmured across from him, and the darkness had come back to haunt his face, black in his eyes and the shadow that played across his jaw and cheekbones. "I told you Stiles. Everything in that safe has a name on it – this does too."

Stiles' head snapped up hard, and he stared Derek down with apprehension, his whole body going cold. "Whose?" he demanded in a quiet voice, even though it wasn't the answer he wanted.

"Whose do you think?" Derek snarled, his teeth showing sharp beneath his lip.

"You're a fucking _cop_," Stiles hissed, anger suddenly boiling up in his chest. Was this guy a complete moron?! Striding forward, he planted his hands flat on Derek's chest and shoved hard, only succeeding in rocking the wolf back on his heels. "My dad's the god damned Sheriff!" he spat through gritted teeth. "Why the _hell _are you telling me you've got a bullet with your ex's name on it? That's _premeditated_ shit, we could _both_ go to prison…"

Before he could draw the breath for another go he was being whipped around and slammed hard against the wall, the werewolf pressed in close as he held him down with a forearm across his chest, fingers gripping him tightly at the shoulder. He was close, way too close, all blue eyes and white fangs and snarl, and for the first time Stiles felt a tiny spark of real fear light on the back of his neck.

Of course, he'd be a liar if he said half that heat wasn't arousal.

Because this was a little bit hot.

Oh _god_, this should _not _be turning him on…

Sucking in a sharp breath between his teeth, Stiles felt his skin tighten as Derek's scent hit him hard, all peppermint and coffee and clean, pale sawdust, and above it the deep, musky smell of pure, raw, _male_…

'_Not a good time_!' he subconscious screamed.

He should be…

"…paying attention!" Derek snarled in his face. "I'm trying to make you _understand_ this!"

"Well you're doing a shit job!" Stiles snarled right back, shoving at his chest ineffectively. "Put. Me. DOWN!"

Startling, Derek looked down at his arm as though it weren't his own, jerking back so that Stiles dropped down to his feet again with a stumble. The wolf had gone pale and drawn, like he had that day in the station, and Stiles sniffed huffily as he readjusted his red hoodie, frowning at the tight wrinkles on the shoulder.

"Are you…"

"Oh for god's sake, don't look at me like that," Stiles snipped, hating the sick, fearful sound in the wolf's voice, hating that he had to reassure him. Christ, he preferred the eyebrows of doom and the death glare to that. "I'm not so breakable. Besides, I hit you first, so just… try again."

Swallowing hard, Derek nodded once before crossing his arms over his chest and clutching his elbows, like he didn't trust himself not to lash out again.

Whatever.

No biggie in Stiles' book – guys tussled, and it wasn't like he'd gone for his throat.

Nice arms though…

"I'm not planning her murder Stiles."

Derek's voice was quiet and firm, insistent, but Stiles still wasn't sure he believed him.

"I offered you an out but you wanted to hear it, and now you're not _listening_…"

"_Fine_!" Stiles enunciated slowly, emotionlessly serious. "I'm all ears!"

And then he snapped his mouth shut, waving one hand in an elegant _continue _gesture while still tapping his foot exaggeratedly with impatience.

Son of a bitch better have a damned good explanation…

"I'm not planning her murder," Derek said again. "Despite the fact that you appear convinced I'm planning _yours_. And despite the fact that I… didn't just give you a great example of self-control…"

Well hell, at least the guy had the good graces mumble and to look ashamed.

"But understand this Stiles," he continued, colder and harsher now. "She's sick, and she is _dangerous_. Like I said before, God forbid you should ever have to come down here, but…"

"Better safe than sorry," Stiles sighed resignedly , repeating his words from before. "Ok. I get that, alright? I'm on board. So are we cool?"

"I'm not hugging you," Derek said by way of an answer, eyeing him warily as though he might try for a sneak attack anyways.

"Sourwolf," Stiles chuckled accusingly. "Your loss. The Stilinski's do the best hugs."

"I'm not hugging your dad either."

Stiles snorted, laughed out loud this time, accepting it as the peace offering it was meant to be. "Anyway," he continued, jamming his hands down into the pockets of his jeans, "You want me to have the com then?"

"Not really," Derek sighed, dragging his hand through his hair again. "Hell, I don't _want _any of this. But I want them safe, I _need_… them safe. And you too, so…"

Grimacing, he closed the box and flicked the latches, tucking it under his arm.

"We'll head over to the station, use the range," he announced, stepping out of the room and locking the door once Stiles had followed. "If you can hit the target eight times out of ten by the time we're done I'll give you the com."

Stiles bit back a derisive chortle, almost mouthing off and reminding him that he was a Sheriff's kid and could probably outshoot half the human cops on the force, all of whom had contributed to his education in one way or another over the years. He contained himself, however, when a better idea came to mind. Filing it away for later use, he followed Derek up the stairs, treated to a nice view of his ass on the way.

"Listen," he said as they emerged into the hallway on the first floor, watching while Derek again locked the door carefully behind them. "You know I've gotta ask…"

Derek turned, looked at him while trying to mask a sudden, significant anxiety.

"That," he continued, gesturing towards the door, "All that. Was that you being a deputy, or a dad?"

"Wish it were that easy," he murmured. "I wish I knew if I'm being realistic, or if I'm just being paranoid, over-protective… but I don't. That's why I told you, why I…"Here he paused, laughing bitterly as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Why I'm gonna understand when you step out of this house and head for the fuckin' hills and never come back."

Stiles frowned.

"I _told _you," he ground out, irritation putting a bite into his words. "I'm on board, all in. No self-preservation right?"

"What… seriously?" Derek asked, and surprise was warring with suppressed hope in his voice. "You…"

Stiles rolled his eyes, turned to head back towards the kitchen with a little extra swing in his step.

"You haven't scared me off yet, Deputy."


End file.
